Manipulation
by Squashed Sandcastle
Summary: Sark screws with Syd's mind, Vaughn begins to succumb to his mounting attraction for Sydney. Syd/Sark and Syd/Vaughn.. FINAL EPILOGUE CHAPTER- Happy Ending.
1. Default Chapter

Sydney was tired. She had just completed a mission that had her jumping out of airplanes, disarming terrorists, and running like hell. As she fit the key into the lock of her apartment door, all she could think was Thank God I'm home.  
  
"Francie?" She yelled, knowing her friend was probably in the apartment somewhere.  
  
Sydney heard muffled scuffling in the backroom, and the sounds of Francie cursing under her breathe. Then she heard another voice-a man's voice. Oops.thought Sydney, Oh well, at least she's getting back in the game.  
  
"I'll just be in the kitchen!" she yelled, laughing. After what she had been going through all day, Sydney just wanted to sit down with a hot tea and a blanket. Besides, that would give Francie and her new "friend" some privacy.  
  
As she lay down on the couch, hands cupped around a warm cup of soothing chamomile tea, she suddenly realized just how tired she was. That mission had taken a lot out of her.  
  
"God, that was a bitch."  
  
Sydney didn't usually swear, but in this case, it seemed more than necessary. She silently recalled her debriefing with Sloane, where all the trouble had started.  
  
"Mr. Sark has just brought to my attention that a copy of the codebook used in Irina Derevco's operations might still be in existence in Taipei. This may be crucial to finding the means to how some important weaponry devices were built."  
  
By devices you mean the Circumference, thought Sydney, while Slaone continued to drone on and on.  
  
"Sydney- you and Dixon will go to Taipei posing as lovers. There is a heavy-metal club with a back way into the warehouse that used to be part of Derevco's operations. The code book is hidden in a safe on the top floor. Dixon- you will guide Sydney to the safe by hacking into the computer mainframe. It shouldn't be too difficult, hopefully you'll be back by morning." Sloane gave Sydney a smug smile.  
  
What seemed even simpler to Sydney would be that she wouldn't need a countermission since the CIA already had the quintessential codebook to all of Derevco's operations-Derevco herself.  
  
Of course it didn't go quite as planned.there was no codebook in the safe; only a bomb, ready to detonate in 30 seconds. Sark swore he had no idea, and that Derevco must have planted it there without his knowledge. And of course Sloane believed him.  
  
"Bastard." Sydney had started thinking out loud. A voice behind her made her jump.  
  
"Hard time at work again?" Francie asked, in answer to Sydney's outburst.  
  
"The worst. Seems like you've been having a fun day though." She gave Francie a sly look.  
  
Francie giggled a moment, "Yeah, it's been fun today-Hey! I want you to meet him! He's really cool. Chris! Hey, c'mere and meet Sydney!"  
  
Sydney laughed and went to put her coffee cup down. Francie was definitely not shy.  
  
She froze as she heard a voice with an oily, British accent say behind her; "pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms.?"  
  
Sydney turned to face Sark, smiled, and said, "Bristow, Sydney Bristow." ___________________________________________________________________________  
  
Oh my God.Oh my God.Sydney stuck out her hand in a gesture of friendliness that made her want to vomit.  
  
"I'm Christopher Sark."  
  
Francie smacked him playfully.  
  
"Jeez, Chris, lighten up! You sound like you're at a board meeting or something!" Francie laughed, "He's always so polite."  
  
Sydney snapped out of the daze she was in, and laughed.  
  
"Hey listen-Francie, I gotta go to work. It was nice meeting you Chris!" she yelled, hurrying out the door.  
  
Sydney was so flustered running out that she knocked Will over as he was coming back in. Grabbing him, she pulled him around to the side of the building before he could even try getting in the door.  
  
"What the-- ? Syd, what's wrong?"  
  
"Don't go in there-it's Sark." Sydney was breathing heavily.  
  
"Who's Sark? I don't understand. Syd," Will said, looking steadily at Syd's panic stricken face, "Talk to me." Taking a few moments, Sydney looked down at the ground, trying to breathe regularly and get the words out.  
  
"Do you remember when you were kidnapped and tortured." that was a stupid question, Sydney realized, when she saw his face recalling the painful memory, " .There was a young, blonde-haired British man who shot you with a tranquilizer?"  
  
Will's eyes widened. "Oh my God."  
  
"Yeah. And now he's got Francie."  
  
"He kidnapped her?!"  
  
"No, no-" Sydney shook her head, trying to find the words to explain, "He's using her to get to me. I know he is." Sydney looked at Will. He had a look of complete anger, fright, and pain, all wrapped into one.  
  
"I just don't want her involved in this. I didn't want you involved." Sydney began to feel a lump in her throat. Her eyes were burning. Why? Why Francie?? She doesn't know.doesn't understand.  
  
They both say in stunned silence for a few minutes, absorbing the situation. Thoughts were running through Sydney's head a mile a minute-to cool off, she decided to imagine as many different ways to kill Sark as possible. Or how many ways she would kill Sark. Finally, Will looked at her.  
  
"What do I need to do?" He asked in a level-headed manner.  
  
Sydney took a breathe; "If you can, go into the house and greet him as if you've never met him before in your life," she looked at him, trying to study his emotions. In her job she specialized in this, but for once, she had no idea what he was thinking.  
  
"I understand if you can't go in there. if you want, I can get the CIA to put you up somewhere, and I'll just tell Francie you're in isolation or something as part of your rehab." Will just looked at her.  
  
Then he got up, and did what Sydney thought was one of the bravest things she had ever seen. He went into the house to greet Sark. Letting out a breathe, Sydney got up and went to her car. She needed to have a little chat with Vaughn. 


	2. Manipulation 2

Agent Michael Vaughn was pacing, waiting in the underground parking garage for Sydney to show up. The beeper had interrupted his coffee and Danish at Starbucks that morning, and he had almost been inclined to not take it, until he saw the number. Sydney only beeped him when it was an emergency- otherwise she could have waited til their next "Joey's Pizza?" rendezvous. Besides, he always made time for Sydney.  
  
The clicking of Sydney's hurried footsteps interrupted his train of thought. Vaughn instantly knew it was her-her could always recognize her footsteps- and he immediately knew something was wrong. Sydney always walked a certain way when something had really psyched her out.  
  
"What's wrong?" He asked immediately, worried.  
  
Sydney didn't waste a second, but sat down and poured out the entire story frantically. Vaughn couldn't help but worry about Sark being in such close quarters with Sydney all the time. This whole thing was obviously a ploy to monitor Sydney somehow. Did Sloane put him up to this? Or, what worried him the most; did Sark have his own personal interests in Sydney? He didn't realize until a second later that Sydney was staring waiting for a response.  
  
"Well, what do you think I should do?" Sydney asked again.  
  
Vaughn got his head back. "Well, first thing is we need to find out why he's doing this. I hate to say this, but you should probably go confront Sloane about it, because if he knows about Sark he will be expecting you to be angry anyways. Nobody at SD-6 has ever really hid their dislike, so it won't be suspicious."  
  
Sydney seemed to have calmed down. The worry line on her forehead slowly faded.  
  
"Alright, and what if Sloane has nothing to do with it? Or better yet, what if he does have something to do with it? You know he won't take orders from me."  
  
"But at least we'll know where the problem is," Vaughn interrupted, "We've gotta do this one step at a time."  
  
"But what about Francie?? Sark is dangerous-I'm worried what he could do." she said.  
  
Vaughn stopped pacing and sat down to look Sydney straight in the eye. When he spoke, his voice was softer.  
  
"I don't think Sark has anything in mind for Francie. What I'm more concerned about is what he wants with you."  
  
The next day, Sydney went in early specifically to talk to Sloane. She hated doing it-if it hadn't been for Francie's sake, she wouldn't have taken the time. Sydney always had a feeling of awkwardness and insecurity around Sloane. He made her nervous.  
  
Today he was at his desk though, reading something at his computer that Sydney couldn't make out. As soon as Sydney walked in he looked up, and leaned back in his chair-The way he always seemed to do around her.  
  
"Sydney," he said, "What can I do for you?"  
  
Be predictable, thought Sydney. . . "Were you the one who put Sark up to this?" She asked, opting to just put everything out in the open. Leave strategizing to Dad, she thought, this is for Francie.  
  
Sloane looked at her quizzically. "Put Sark up to what Sydney?" Sydney studied his expression. He seemed to genuinely not know what she was talking about.  
  
When she didn't respond, Sloane continued. "Do you mean Sark's seeming lack of efficiency in helping us to track down the codebook? I gave him a stern warning, but I'm not yet to the point where I'm going to break off the deal."  
  
"No-I'm sorry to bother you, it's just that Sark has lately been butting into my personal life. I was wondering if you could-"  
  
"Tell him to back off? Force him to quit bumping into you? Unless he has taken direct action against you Sydney, there's nothing I can do." Sloane got up slowly, and sat down in the chair next to Sydney. "But I will give him a fair warning. I'm sorry Sydney, but that's all I can do without infringing upon his legal rights." He touched her arm as he spoke. A small shiver ran up Sydney's spine, but she stayed still. She wouldn't be getting any help from Sloane, she realized.  
  
As she exited Sloane's office, she couldn't help but think that Sloane had never acted within the boundaries of legal rights when it came to her late fiancé, Danny. No, don't start thinking about that. . . It will only get you in a bad mood. . .  
  
A burning sensation started up in the pit of her stomach. She needed an argument.  
  
When Sydney walked in the door, she found Francie looking frantic, alone in the kitchen. When she saw Sydney, she automatically relaxed.  
  
"Thank God you're home. . . Listen, I just got a call from the restaurant-somebody broke in. I need to go and see what the damage is."  
  
"Do you want me to come with you?" Sydney asked.  
  
"No-But there is something you could do for me," Francie had that pleading look on her face that Sydney almost always gave in to. "Chris is supposed to come by and have dinner here. . . Could you stall him until I get back? The cop said it would only take a few hours to get everything squared away, and Chris isn't supposed to show up for another hour and a half yet."  
  
Sydney didn't know what to say. The last thing she wanted to do is get stuck alone with Sark. "Listen, Francie, about Chris-"  
  
It seemed Francie knew what Syd was going to say, and she just snapped. "I knew it! You don't approve of him, do you?? I saw that look on your face when I first introduced him, you think I don't notice all that stuff, but I do. What is up with you, Syd? You hardly even know the man and you don't like him. Could it kill you," she continued, "to just be happy for me for once? I am happier than I have been in a long time-ever since Charlie!" Francie just shook her head.  
  
"It's not that I don't like Chris, it's just-"  
  
Again Francie interrupted. "It's just that he doesn't seem right for me. Is that right? Is that what you were going to say?" Sydney didn't dispute it.  
  
Francie softened. "Listen Syd, you know that I respect your opinion- but lately, every time I needed you you've been on another bank trip. . ." Sydney felt a pang of guilt. I should've paid more attention, she thought.  
  
"Chris listens to me. He's been there for me so many times when you weren't." Francie continued. "Sometimes to me it seems like ever since Danny you want to keep me all to yourself. I can't handle it anymore." She stood up to get her coat.  
  
"I know that you have good intentions, but-Just trust me for once, okay? . . .And please, if you do me any favors tonight, just stick around and let Chris in when he comes. You don't have to stay and chat with him or anything. Just let him in." Francie opened the door. "I'm tired of playing second fiddle."  
  
For an hour and a half, Sydney sat brooding over her argument with Francie. She and Francie had not had a fight in a long time. She hadn't even realized that there were problems. Did Francie really believe all she had said about Danny and all that? Or was she just blowing off steam after her stressful phone call about the restaurant? Lately Sydney wasn't quite sure if she was in the right or not. Damn Sark.  
  
At exactly eight o'clock and not a moment later, the doorbell rang. Sydney opened the door to Sark's smug face. She had found the argument she had been looking for. 


	3. Manipulation 3

"May I come in, Miss Bristow, or do you want me to just stand here and freeze to death?" Sark said in a mock-formal tone.  
  
"Go ahead. . ." Sydney growled, already starting to close the door in his face. Sark put a hand in to stop her.  
  
"If you don't mind, Miss Bristow, I believe Francie is waiting for me," he said, stepping in. Walking straight to the kitchen as if he owned the place, he proceeded to open up the most expensive bottle of champagne they had and pour a glass.  
  
"Would you like a glass of Dom Perignon, Miss Bristow?" He is odious, Sydney thought.  
  
Sydney ignored the question. "Francie won't be meeting you tonight. There was fire at the restaurant." her voice sounded strained. Leave. . . Leave. . .  
  
"Oh really, what a pity. . ." Sark said offhandedly, "Guess it will just be you and me tonight." He stared straight at her with his icy blue eyes.  
  
Sydney marched over to Sark, snatched away his champagne fluke in mid- sip and snarled, "No, it won't. . ." Walking over and opening the door, she said "You will be leaving now. And," she finished, with icy undertones, "If you ever come back, I will personally put you in an early grave, regardless of Sloane's favoritism towards you. Do you understand??"  
  
Sark was silent as he pretended not to notice the fiery glare of hatred Sydney was giving him, as he casually sauntered over to the door. Looking straight at Sydney, he delicately took her hand off the door and closed it, shutting himself inside once more.  
  
"Do I detect a smidgen of disapproval in your voice Miss Bristow?" Sark asked mockingly, smiling his cocky smile.  
  
"Go to hell; And leave Francie alone." Sydney said, ignoring his baiting. For all his polite speech and Formal Aires, he really was the lowest scum on the face of the Earth. Except perhaps Sloane, Sydney amended.  
  
Stretching out on the couch, Sark was making it clear he was going to stay awhile. "Give me one good reason why I should do as you say, Miss Bristow." He continued to smirk at her, inviting her to continue. He's loving this, Sydney thought. I could kill him. . .  
  
"You're just using Francie to your own advantage!" Sydney exploded. She'd had enough of his polite mocking. "You knew it would get a rise out of me, so you went ahead and butted in on my personal life! If there's anything that you should understand, Sark, it's the need to keep one's professional and personal life separate in this business. But then again, I doubt you have any friends."  
  
That remark seemed to get to Sark. He stood to face Sydney head-on, a slightly angered look on his face. He looked down for a moment before again maintaining his casual, apathetic expression. Then he began walking towards her as he spoke some well-chosen words.  
  
"Oh, and you did such a good job of separating those with your late fiancé, didn't you Miss Bristow? Or with your reporter friend, Tippin, when he was kidnapped. . ."  
  
"By you, you Bastard!" Sydney snapped. Don't play into his hands Sydney. . .  
  
Sark kept advancing, his voice cutting into her. "The only reason your angry is because Francie is your last tie to normalcy-you don't give a damn about her welfare. And you're accusing me of using her!" Sark laughed. "The only one using Francie is you, Miss Bristow. The same way you used Tippin, and the same way you used your fiancé Danny."  
  
This conversation had taken a turn for the worse. Sydney shut her eyes tight, trying in vain to block out his words.  
  
"None of them knew you-the only reason you keep friends like Francie around is to try and maintain a façade of normalcy and family." Her eyes squeezed tighter. Block him out Sydney. . . Block him out. . .  
  
"But you are anything but normal, Sydney Bristow, and you certainly don't have a family. Your mother considered you to be a useless side effect of her job, and your father views you as one of his many mistakes in marrying Irina Derevco." Sydney's eyes flew open as she met with Sark's pale, cornflower eyes looking right at her.  
  
He had stopped short just inches from her, all but spitting his last words in her face. "You think that you and I are so different, Miss Bristow, but in truth, you are just as malicious and alone as I am."  
  
Sydney couldn't find words to speak. She was trapped in her own insecurities, those which Sark had so clearly illustrated to her.  
  
Sark only hesitated a moment, staring into her eyes with total control, before he closed the small remaining gap between them and kissed her hard on the mouth. 


	4. Manipulation 4

Agent Vaughn sighed as the phone rang in the middle of his argument with Alice. It was the same argument they had been having for the past month since they had gotten back together. Vaughn had tried to not get so involved in his work. To spend more time alone with Alice. But it was so hard to prioritize when Alice wasn't even aware of many important facets of his life. It had started to seem like, the harder he tried, the further he pushed her away.  
  
He had just finished maintaining his millionth hollow promise to devote more time to "the relationship" when the phone rang again. Alice looked at him with anger and desperation. This wasn't fair to her, Vaughn thought.  
  
"You don't have to get it, Michael." was all she said to him.  
  
Vaughn squeezed his eyes shut as the phone rang for a third time, blaring like a siren in his ear. You don't have to get it, Vaughn, you don't have to get it. . . But what if it was an emergency? What if Sydney was in trouble? Inevitably, that S-word always seemed to come up, always finalizing his decision.  
  
"I need to take this, Alice." he said quietly. She said nothing, just went into the other room.  
  
Vaughn shook his head and picked up the phone.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Joey's Pizza?" whispered a frail voice on the other end. Vaughn was taken aback. Sydney was never frail.  
  
"Sorry, wrong number." he said gently.  
  
He made a move to hang up the phone when the voice cried, "Wait!"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Could you have it delivered to the Moonlight Bar on Southeast 25th?"  
  
"Sure thing."  
  
------------------------------------  
  
Vaughn didn't know how he would explain to Alice. Upon walking into their bedroom, he saw it would be futile anyways. All of her clothes were strewn out on the bed, as she packed them into her suitcase in her calm and careful way. If Vaughn hadn't known her better, he would have thought she didn't care; but inside, he knew, she was fighting back tears.  
  
"Alice. . ." he tried, groping for the words to explain to her.  
  
"It's the office, and you have to go." she said evenly as she continued packing methodically. She hadn't looked at him since he walked in the door.  
  
Vaughn looked down, guilty. "Yeah."  
  
"Then I won't be here when you get back."  
  
Alice finally turned around to look at him. One stubborn tear trailed down her cheek.  
  
"Alice, I-"  
  
Alice held two fingers up to his lips, halting another false promise.  
  
"Michael, don't start." she whispered.  
  
Vaughn nodded. He hesitated for a moment, then softly kissed her on her forehead, and walked out the door. 


	5. Manipulation 5

Shivering in the corner of the bar on the floor, Sydney finished off her fourth shot of vodka. She was so enveloped within her psyche at this point that she could just barely hear the jazz singer performing onstage. She sounded so far off, trapped in the fog.  
  
"In a sentimental mood. . ."  
  
Sydney had considered herself an independent fighter, who never gave in, and never gave out. Yet all it had taken was one conversation with Sark to leave her shattered and hollow. She wasn't crying. In fact, her face showed no emotion at all. She just felt numb. And frail.  
  
When Sark kissed her, it had taken Sydney approximately 2 seconds to realize that he had been manipulating her, playing on her hidden emotions and insecurities, in order to gain what he wanted. She had left him in the apartment reeling in pain from a kick in the groin, but unfortunately, she couldn't escape from Sark's words quite as easily.  
  
He had placed ideas and questions in her head that had never been brought to light. Sydney relied on her self-assurance to keep her from insanity. And now, her usual iron self confidence was being eclipsed by a lurking shadow of doubt.  
  
"Bartender, could I have another shot please?" she called, from her huddled space in the corner.  
  
"I can see the stars come through my room. . ."  
  
Sydney tipped her head back against the wall and closed her eyes, waiting for Vaughn to come. 


	6. Manipulation 6

Slamming shut his car door, Vaughn approached the bar entrance. What was Sydney doing in a place like this?  
  
Upon entering, Vaughn's senses were bombarded as the thick scent of smoke and booze reached his nose. Onstage, a woman was crooning various torch songs. Where was Sydney? Vaughn couldn't find her among the people gathered. Wondering vaguely if this was a setup, Vaughn was just about to leave when he spotted a figure, huddling in the corner by the bar. She was shivering.  
  
"Oh, Syd. . ." Vaughn said to himself. She looked pretty messed up.  
  
Walking quickly towards her, Vaughn became increasingly worried. In adversity, Sydney acted angry, defiant, stubborn, and frustrated, but she never seemed broken like she was now. What had happened?  
  
At first, it appeared that Sydney hadn't noticed that Vaughn was now standing next to her. She didn't look at him, she just continued shivering.  
  
"Hi." she finally mustered, her voice soft and heavy. Slowly her body uncurled from its position, and she leaned against the wall, looking up at him. She has such expressive eyes, he thought. It was easy to tell how they were holding back tears.  
  
Vaughn slid his back down the wall and sat next to her, their arms just barely touching.  
  
"Hey." he said softly. How he wanted to just hold her, shield her in his arms. Over her shoulder he noticed that she seemed to be taking up a collection of empty shot glasses.  
  
"What happened, Syd?"  
  
"Sark and I had a conversation."  
  
"What did he say to you?" Instantly he became protective.  
  
"It's just. . . Francie and I had a fight because I've been too distant, and. . . Oh, everything he said was true. . ." Vaughn wasn't following-she was too drunk.  
  
"Except what he said about Francie. . . I would never hurt Francie. . ." her voice was cracking. She had definitely had too much to drink.  
  
"Syd, listen. . . Syd!" she had begun to bury her head in her hands. Vaughn cupped her face in his hands and forced her to look at him. In the background, soft jazz music eased the tension of the conversation somewhat.  
  
"They asked me how I knew. . . My true love was true. . ."  
  
"Tell me what happened, Syd." He continued looking at her. Sydney took a breath.  
  
"When Francie left after we had this fight, Sark showed up. I told to him stop using Francie to get to me. Then he accused me of using Francie. He said that I didn't care about any of them. . . not even Danny. . . he said I was just using them to make me feel like I had a family." she paused.  
  
"Because I never had a family in the first place. They never loved me."  
  
"Syd, you know that's not true. Your mother-" Vaughn started. Sydney didn't give him the chance to finish.  
  
"My Mother what, Vaughn?? My mother loved me?!" Sydney laughed bitterly. Vaughn looked at her surprised. This could not be Sydney Bristow. She was too cynical, too uncaring. In one conversation with Sark, all of her pent up emotions had come seething to the surface.  
  
Sydney looked at him, her expression unreadable. They sat staring at each other for some time, and Vaughn began to watch her eyes well up with water, slowly but surely. She couldn't hold it back much longer. Reflecting the dim lights in the bar, every second her eyes seemed to grow wider, deeper.  
  
Finally, she blinked. One stubborn, defiant tear appeared and arced down her cheek. Tentatively, Vaughn reached up and brushed it away; wishing with everything in him that he could brush away her problems just as easily.  
  
"I of course replied. . . Something deep inside, cannot be denied. . ."  
  
His hand still rested on her face, caressing her cheek. Suddenly, Sydney's eyes widened in realization of what was happening. Vaughn quickly withdrew his hand, and Sydney looked down in embarrassment. A moment passed before she spoke again.  
  
"Face it Vaughn. My entire childhood-It was all an act! And," she added, "When my mother left, all my father did was keep up appearances."  
  
"Syd, just because you had a bad childhood doesn't give you the right to ruin your life forever. I won't let you."  
  
"What do you know about it, Vaughn?" she snapped. "Bartender, could you get me another one of these?" she asked, waving the shot glass in the air. The bartender looked at Vaughn sitting next to her. Vaughn shook his head in response. Sydney would not be consuming anymore alcohol tonight.  
  
He turned his attention to Sydney.  
  
"You think I don't know what it's like to have a rough childhood? May I remind you that your mother put my father into and early grave? Don't even try pulling that defense tactic on me, Sydney."  
  
She looked at him, surprised for a moment. He didn't usually talk back. Vaughn could tell he was throwing her off guard.  
  
"I'm sorry." she said, simply. It was enough.  
  
"Why has this shaken you up so much, Syd? It's just Sark."  
  
"That's just it. . . Sark's figured me out. He totally understands everything that's going on in my head, and it scares the hell out of me Vaughn!" she said, raising her voice.  
  
"The worst part is that everything he said had a ring of truth to it, you know? Half the time I am using Francie and I am using Will. I'm afraid they're going to turn into one of my missions, with me lying and exploiting them; not caring about them. . . I used to think I was being a hero-Now I'm starting to realize it's just another alias."  
  
Vaughn didn't know what to say. He felt the same way half the time. Especially with Alice-God, he hated himself for that.  
  
"And then when Sark kissed me. . ."Sydney continued. Alarm bells rang in Vaughn's head.  
  
"He WHAT?? Sydney, why weren't you telling me this part before??" Vaugh knew he was acting incredibly unprofessional, but he couldn't stop himself. Then again, he mused, Syd and I crossed that line a long time ago. What's a few steps further?  
  
"I can't believe he-"  
  
"Will you shut up?" Sydney was laughing. "Quit acting jealous. . ."  
  
"I wasn't. . ." Vaughn muttered, but couldn't finish. He was too honest to pretend he didn't care. Looking up, he noticed Sydney wasn't laughing anymore. She didn't seem particularly sober anymore, either.  
  
"It's funny, I know. . . but that's what scared me the most in that entire conversation," she said, "He had made me feel so alone. . . and then he kissed me."  
  
Just then she tipped her head back in startled realization.  
  
"And you know what Vaughn? For 2 seconds, I kissed him back. For 2 precious seconds, I gave in. I wanted so desperately to give in." she looked at him.  
  
"I don't want to be alone anymore, Vaughn."  
  
"They said someday you'll find, all who love are blind. . . When you're heart's on fire, you must realize. . . Smoke gets in your Eyes. . ."  
  
Leaning in, looking straight into his eyes, she caught her lips with his own. Vaughn suddenly understood what Sydney had meant when she talked about wanting to give in. As the kiss deepened, all he could think about was how much he needed her. He didn't want to be alone anymore either. It didn't matter how many friends he had, he couldn't tell anyone-but Sydney understood him. With Sydney, he was never truly alone.  
  
But there was always that other tiny little voice deep inside. The voice of rationality. A war began waging inside his head.  
  
She's drunk. I can't take advantage of her like this. . .  
  
But she's right here. . . I can't let her go. . . Sydney was running her fingers through his hair as she continued kissing him. The kiss was deep and tender at the same time. Just like I imagined it would be. . . Vaughn thought.  
  
This will not answer your problems, Vaughn, only create more. . .  
  
But then again, I may never get the chance again. . . Holding her felt so right, he noticed. They fit together.  
  
You'll blow Sydney's cover, Vaughn. . . It's too dangerous for Sydney.  
  
That convinced him.  
  
Slowly, gently, he held Sydney's face and pulled away. He could see the confusion in her eyes, searching his for an explanation.  
  
"Vaughn?" she said softly.  
  
Still inches away from her face, he whispered, "I can't. . ."  
  
Holding her face in his hands, he rubbed his thumb slowly over her lips. She closed her eyes.  
  
I've got to get out before I can't stop myself, Vaughn thought. It won't happen like this.  
  
Sydney didn't look at him as he got up to leave, just kept her eyes closed.  
  
"Love you. . ." she whispered, almost inaudibly, as soon as he walked out the door.  
  
"So I smile and say. . . When a lovely flame dies, Smoke gets in your Eyes. . ." 


	7. Manipulation 7

//Press Conference  
  
"Mr. Tippin, how does it feel knowing you have won one of the most prestigious journalism awards, the Pulitzer Prize?"  
  
"Mr. Tippin, there have been rumors that you have a new fiancé . . . Is it true you will be marrying your long-time girlfriend, Ms. Sydney Bristow?"  
  
"Mr. Tippin, do you have any comments about the torture and murder of the renowned criminal Mr. Sark?"  
  
"Any comments about your fiancé's acquaintance, Michael Vaughn, and his recent decision to become a Catholic Priest and live the rest of his life in chaste?"  
  
"Hang on a sec," said Will, laughing, "One question at a time . . ."  
  
Cameras flashed in his face, catching every smile.  
  
"Give your new fiancé a kiss for the cameras!"  
  
"I'll be happy to oblige," said Will, pulling Sydney close.  
  
"Whadda you say, honey?" Sydney whispered seductively in his ear, "Do you wanna . . . RRRIIINNNGGG!!!" //  
  
The annoying ring of a cell phone in Will's ear awoke him from his nap. Grumbling, Will groped blindly for the phone as it continued to ring an irritating Nokia Jingle. He finally admitted defeat and got up, sifting through couch cushions in pursuit of the elusive ring tone. Finally awake, he realized it had been in his pocket all along.  
  
"H'lo?" he said sleepily.  
  
"Will, could you do me a favor?" Will recognized Vaughn's slightly panicked voice on the other end.  
  
"Sure, I owe you. What's the favor?"  
  
"Could you go pick up Sydney at the moonlight bar on Southeast 25th? It's right on the corner, you can't miss it."  
  
What was this??  
  
"Why is Sydney alone at a bar Vaughn?? Did you LEAVE her there??"  
  
"Look-It's not like it sounds . . . I'm parked outside the bar now to make sure nothing happens to her."  
  
"Then why don't you go get her? What happened, Vaughn??" Will was beginning to sound more frantic than Vaughn did.  
  
"Look, I can't explain, but . . . some things were said, and, well-- It's just better if you went and got her . . ."  
  
"If you hurt her, Vaughn I swear to God . . ."  
  
"I-I didn't hurt her . . . Sark took care of that . . . I was just trying to help her . . . But if I go back in there, I'll only make things worse for her."  
  
"What did Sark do to her??" Will began cursing under his breath. He was already sprinting out to his car, feeling overprotective emotions taking control.  
  
He'd kill Sark. He'd take a gun, and shoot him in the head. He might do the same to Vaughn, for leaving Syd in the bar alone. But then, he did call . . .  
  
Okay, I'll just maim him instead . . .  
  
Vaughn was still chattering nervously into the phone.  
  
"Sark didn't do anything to her physically, Will . . . But he messed with her head a bit, so she's pretty fragile right now."  
  
"I'm on my way . . . Bye . . ." Will was only half listening at this point. He just had to get to Sydney.  
  
_______________________________________  
  
Sydney had been falling in and out of consciousness for the past hour . . . Ever since Vaughn left. Suddenly she felt warm hands wrap around her and pick her up off the ground. This wasn't Vaughn-she could tell that much in her drunken state.  
  
Looking up at the familiar face, she had had too much to drink . . . she couldn't quite see . . . she tried to form words, but she was too tired . . .  
  
He was whispering softly to her, but she couldn't quite make out what he was saying.  
  
Finally she surrendered to her emotional fatigue, and just nestled her head into his shoulder and fell into blissful unconsciousness.  
  
  
  
______________________________________  
  
Will parked his car around back. He could see Vaughn's black sedan parked on the curb out front. Good. He was still here.  
  
Entering through the back door, he tried to spot Sydney at one of the many tables in the smoke-filled bar. She was nowhere to be seen.  
  
Growing steadily worried, Will checked the floor, just in case she had passed out. Looking around, eyes darting . . . he couldn't find her . . .  
  
Will let out a breath. There she was, lying in the corner, apparently passed out. Will ran over to her, checking to make sure she was okay.  
  
A light touch on her arm woke her up, and she blinked a second at Will, seeming to acknowledge his presence, but she couldn't seem to find the words to say anything. Will patted her reassuringly on the shoulder.  
  
"Syd, I'll be right back and then we can take you home. Okay?"  
  
Sydney squinted sleepily, but nodded. Will checked one more time to see if she was okay, and then went out to give Vaughn a piece of his mind.  
  
Vaughn was waiting in the car, looking wide-eyed and slightly traumatized. He rolled down the window when Will walked up.  
  
"You don't have to wait around anymore, I'll take her home," he found himself saying. All the insults and biting remarks he had been constructing on the way over blew out of his head when he saw the worried look on Vaughn's face. He truly was worried about her. It as clear he thought that he wasn't a help to Sydney right now-he was looking downright guilty.  
  
"What happened that was so bad that you thought you could only make things worse for Sydney?" Will asked, although he was pretty sure he knew the answer.  
  
Vaughn, however, didn't supply one.  
  
"If Sydney wants you to know, she'll tell you . . ." he looked down at the floor of his car.  
  
"Look-you better go in and get her out. She needs to be home -resting- with friends. She could definitely use a little normalcy right now."  
  
"I'll stay out here until you leave . . . Don't want to complicate things . . . See you later, Will." Vaughn sounded so dejected.  
  
"See you later Vaughn."  
  
____________________________________  
  
Vaughn began to slowly close the window in his car as Will disappeared into the bar once more. He'd really screwed up Sydney this time.  
  
She came to me for help and I only made things worse . . . I probably made her feel more alone than she already was . . .  
  
Will will be there to help her out, he told himself. But somehow he wasn't satisfied with that. He kept envisioning him sitting on the couch with Sydney, putting his arm around her, telling her everything would be all right . . .  
  
Just as he put the key in the ignition, Will came running out of the restaurant, waving wildly at Vaughn to stop the car, a mad look on his face.  
  
Vaughn frantically rolled down the window.  
  
"What?? What happened?? Where's Sydney?!"  
  
Will gripped the window ledge of the car until his knuckles turned white.  
  
"-Sydney's gone . . . I can't find her!" 


	8. Manipulation 8

When Sydney woke up, she didn't open her eyes right away. The shiver running down her spine told her something wasn't right, so she waited- observing everything she could without the use of her eyes. A sharp pain slashed through her head, almost making her wince and moan out loud. Hangover. Trying hard to forget the disastrous events that had taken place in the bar, Sydney mentally chided herself for becoming so open and vulnerable. She had to face the fact that she was a different person out in the field then who she as at home, with friends. The shy, girl-next-door Sydney couldn't cope with the realization of what her spy-alter-ego did for a living, which was why, she reasoned, it screwed me up so much when Sark entered my house. Next time she would be prepared. Next time, she wouldn't hesitate to shoot Sark in the head and finish the job. Never again, Sydney thought . . . I will not be taken advantage of like that again.  
  
Once she was awake enough to comprehend things better, she realized that she could feel the cold metal of handcuffs around each of her wrists, which were positioned above her head. Her head was on a pillow-she was definitely handcuffed to the bed. A few seconds more and she realized that her legs were tied down too-most likely on the other side of the bed. I'm not in the best position to defend myself, Sydney concluded. Talk about stating the obvious . . . But after all, she was experiencing the worst hangover of her life, so her mind was not quite as sharp as it usually was. Another sudden pain stabbed into her head, drowning out her thoughts.  
  
Concentrate, Sydney . . . What else is there?  
  
She forced herself to ignore the pain in her head and continued to absorb her surroundings. She still hadn't moved a muscle. Chenille bedspread, it's warm- and silent. And there's a smell . . . some sort of wine . . .Sydney liked to think she knew at least a little about wine . . . considering how much she liked to consume. Definitely wine, an expensive wine at that, she decided. Red Wine. . . . . Petreuse?  
  
"Ms. Bristow, you needn't feign sleep. I know for a fact you have been awake for at least 15 minutes." the one voice she did not want to hear was suddenly ringing in her ear. Damn it. What was he doing here? And what business did he have watching her sleep?  
  
Sydney didn't answer, just continued to close her eyes and pretend to sleep. She knew this façade wouldn't fool Sark; He was way too smart for that. But at least she might persuade him to leave her alone for a while. From experience, Sydney knew that Sark usually had very little interest in conversation unless he could get a rise out of somebody. Maybe if I refuse to respond, he'll give me time to think.  
  
He didn't speak again, but Sydney could tell he hadn't left either. Just the thought of him being in the room with her when she was this vulnerable made another shiver crawl down her spine. Ever since Sydney had become a double agent, since she had stopped trusting the system, she had an intense fear of closing her eyes when someone else was present. Because who knows what they could be doing that I'm not aware of? Sydney wondered . . . Sark is probably staring at me hard right now, with his icy blue eyes . . . and I can't see him . . . who knows what he could be thinking?  
  
STOP.  
  
Sydney forced her thoughts into focus. She couldn't afford to panic, not when she was I this situation. Think, Syd, think .  
  
Who is in charge of my kidnapping? Is Sark working alone again, or worse, Sydney thought, has my cover been blown and this was Sloane's doing? STUPID, STUPID, STUPID . . . I shouldn't have called Vaughn-I can't afford to be seen with him. What if he's dead already?  
  
Sydney had to stop herself from panicking again. This was definitely not Sloane's style. Sloane would have made her as uncomfortable as possible, not given her Chenille Bedsheets. This was probably Sark having some fun with her again. Damn him, and his stupid cocky grin . . .  
  
He should especially go to Hell for having such clear blue eyes. They just aren't fitting on a sociopathic killer.  
  
What is up with me?, Syd wondered to herself . . . My mind is completely in the gutter-I keep panicking, and I can't seem to focus long enough to come up with anything that will help me.  
  
Oh wait, Syd remembered-I almost forgot the fact that I consumed copious amounts of alcohol last night. Was it even night anymore? What time is it? she wondered.  
  
"Ms. Bristow, you're not fooling anyone." Sark's boyish British accent cut into her brainstorm session. Oh well, Sydney thought, It's not like I was getting anywhere. It had been several minutes since he had spoken.  
  
"It is your choice whether or not you want to acknowledge my presence, but to help sway your decision I think it is only right that you should know that I apprehended your precious handler"-he knows?? Syd was panicking again . . . How did he find out??- "and I am also becoming reacquainted with your friend Mr. Tippin. Exactly how many memories you want Mr. Tippin to relive is up to you, but I promise if you cooperate, or at least TALK to me for God's sake, your friends won't be harmed."  
  
He's bluffing, Sydney told herself-Vaughn left me at the bar and went home. Will's probably working his paper-pusher job at the CIA right now. He's just manipulating you again, just like he did last time . . . using your human relationships against you.  
  
A small voice creeped into the back of Sydney's head.  
  
What if he isn't bluffing?  
  
Sydney opened her eyes, finally. Thank god the room was dark. Sydney wasn't sure she could take any bright light with this headache. Though worse pains would probably hit her before this was over.  
  
Adjusting her eyes to the darkness, Sydney glanced around the room. Small, lightly furnished, but comfortable looking. And there was Sark, reclining in a chair in the corner with his glass of Chateau Petreuse, staring at her intently-just as she'd imagined.  
  
"What have you done with them?" she asked in a hoarse voice. He fixed his gaze directly into her eyes, pulling her in.  
  
"You're friends aren't here Ms. Bristow. Excuse my rudeness in lying to you, but under the circumstances, I'm sure you understand my intent." he took another sip of his wine before continuing.  
  
"You see, Ms. Bristow, that's the problem with creating ties and connections with other human beings . . . It provides a wide range of weaknesses for people to work with."  
  
"What do you want with me?" Sydney asked, ignoring the baiting. Their verbal battles were becoming mundane.  
  
"That is a very interesting question, Sydney Bristow," he said, swirling the wine in his glass.  
  
Sydney rolled over away from Sark as much as her confines allowed her, and tried to go back to sleep. She realized long ago she would never get a straight answer out of him. Inevitably, her paranoia about closing her eyes got the best of her, and she opened them, jumping back.  
  
As he had done in their last conversation, he was staring at her again, inches away from her face when she opened her eyes. But this time, he didn't move closer.  
  
"I could arrange for Mr. Tippin and your handler to join us however . . ." Sark backed up again and began pouring another glass of wine. He looked at Sydney again, knowing she understood his meaning.  
  
"Would you care for some wine, Ms. Bristow?" 


	9. Manipulation 9

Sydney glared daggers in Sark's direction.  
  
"You, Mr. Sark, can take your wine and shove it up your-"  
  
"Testy, testy, Ms. Bristow. . . I think we could try to remain courteous in this exchange. Besides, now that I think about it, I don't believe it would be wise to add more alcohol into your system at this point. You were all but passed out when I picked you up earlier." he said, suppressing a grin. Sydney could see the corners of his mouth twitching, but as usual, he managed to keep a straight face. As if she needed any more reminders of her complete vulnerability last night. This hangover was killing her enough anyways. Syd realized at this point there was absolutely no method of torture that could put her in any more pain than she was already in. Another sharp pang sliced through her thoughts. Not pretending to sleep anymore, Sydney didn't try to hide her pain, and visibly winced. Sark remained apathetic.  
  
"You know, you almost reminded me of a child the way you huddled against me, when I picked you up-semiconscious, mumbling," that made Sydney wince even more, the thought of her huddled against Sark, "Did I really have that much of an effect on you Sydney?"  
  
Yes, Sydney thought to herself. Unfortunately.  
  
"Don't flatter yourself, Sark. I had a fight with Francie." Why was she explaining herself to him?  
  
"Most likely that fight was caused by me though . . . Am I correct?" That hint of a smile was playing on his lips again.  
  
"Why I fight with my friends is really none of your business Sark." Sydney tried to remain uncaring.  
  
"Then it WAS caused by me."  
  
"No, it wasn't," Sydney lied, "It was mainly because I hadn't been there for her lately . . . You had nothing to do with it."  
  
"Two things, Ms. Bristow. First, I think you're lying. Second, that fight further proves my theory that you don't really have any connection to your friends other than using them to boost your confidence that you're a normal person." Sydney tensed. She was ready to scream. In fact, why not?  
  
"AAAUUUGGGHHH!!!"  
  
Sark sat back, obviously pleased with himself.  
  
"Two things Mr. Sark. One, you don't seem to mention, in your tirade to try and display every weakness I possess, the fact that YOU tried to kiss me, and I kicked you in the balls and walked out. How's that for vulnerability? Second, if you're so uncaring about everything, why do you go to such lengths to get a rise out of me?"  
  
Sark got another one of those looks on his face for a split second -so fast Sydney wondered if she had imagined it-, where it looked like he had started to display emotion, but then reverted back to his dispassionate stare once again. Sydney laughed inwardly. He wouldn't trap her in this time. This time she was ready; she wasn't going to fool around and let him toy with her. Her sudden confidence must have shown on her face, because Sark changed the subject immediately.  
  
"Well then, don't you want to know why you're here, Ms. Bristow?" he said simply, shutting out the argument that had just occurred.  
  
"Enlighten me Sark. The quicker you explain things, the quicker I can say NO." Another pain shot through her head, making her wince again.  
  
"You know," Sark said, leaning back in his chair, "I could give you something for that headache of yours if you became a little more cooperative."  
  
Damn. That was a tempting offer.  
  
"What exactly do you want from me this time?" The words were out before she could stop them.  
  
"Simple enough in form. I need to have a chat with Irina Derevko. In simpler terms: I need access to her for one half hour. That's all I ask."  
  
How did he know her mother was in CIA custody? And another thing, he expects me to just waltz into the CIA with him in tow?  
  
Sydney did a double take. "You expect me to be able to grant you access to Irina Derevko? You're more psycho than I thought you were! I wouldn't let you within a 200-yard radius of my mother, not for all Bayer aspirin in the world! Besides, just because I have access to her doesn't mean I can granted access to other people . . . ESPECIALLY not enemies of the state!"  
  
"Honestly, Ms. Bristow-do you think I am that stupid? I know that it would be impossible for me to get into the CIA building. But-I also know for a fact that at the next meeting you have with the CIA, they are going to discuss a mission plan with you that involves you taking Irina along on the mission, using her vast knowledge of the Russian government to help you achieve your goal. All I am asking you to do is to allow me to have her for a half hour right before your mission officially commences, and then you can go on with the original plans."  
  
How does he know about this? Sydney wondered, but knew better than to ask. Most likely he would just use some overly-dramatic, ambiguous phrase like, "I have my ways . . ." On to more important questions. Specifics.  
  
"Will I be present during your discussion?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then absolutely not."  
  
"May I remind you, Ms. Bristow, that I now have access to all of your friends."  
  
"At least let me set up something in a room with surveillance. There doesn't have to be sound. I just don't want her leaving my custody."  
  
Sark thought for a moment.  
  
"Alright," he said, "By the way, which language do you not speak fluently?"  
  
"Never been too good at Portugeuse." Sydney surprised herself by answering truthfully. By the time she had gotten around to learning that one, her brain was already on overload. All she could really say was hello, and a few random emergency commands. Sark didn't trust her at her word though.  
  
"Eu te amo." he said. She had no idea what it meant, and he seemed relatively convinced by her look of complete lack of understanding.  
  
"Deal?" he said finally.  
  
"Deal . . ." she said reluctantly. Who knows? she thought. Maybe my mother will actually tell me what is said. Though she highly doubted it.  
  
"Now," he said, "would you like some aspirin?" She hesitated a second. He wasn't someone to be trusted. He seemed to sense her fears.  
  
"I have a sealed bottle in the bathroom," he said, "I'll open it right in front of you so you'll know I haven't tampered with it."  
  
It was a weak promise, but she'd take it. She nodded her head, and he went out to get the bottle. True to his word, he opened the bottle right in front of her, and took out two tablets. With surprising gentleness in his touch, he lifted up her chin, and allowed her to take a few sips of water. When he slipped the pills in her mouth, his fingers gently brushed across her lower lip, leaving a tingling sensation where they'd touched. For a moment he stared, just looking at her face, before gently setting her head down one the pillow once more.  
  
"How about you uncuff me too?"  
  
"No, I think I'll leave you like this for awhile," Smirk. "You're not wanted at either offices for at least 12 hours." And with that her got up, and sauntered out the door, closing it behind him. Sydney hadn't expected him to release her, but there was never harm in asking. Stretching her arm to reach her head was considerably painful, but it paid off when she found a bobby pin, left over from last night's revelries, still stuck in her hair. She began deftly picking at the lock to the handcuffs. This would take time.  
  
Sydney glanced at a clock on the wall that she hadn't noticed before when Sark was present. 10:45. She checked the window to see if there was any light peeking out from below the curtains: none. Good, it's night . . . she thought. He'll be asleep.  
  
It's funny, she thought . . . All those complex gadgets that Marshall invents specifically for every mission, and still all a girl really needs in this business is a nice ass and some hairpins. 


	10. Manipulation 10

It was lucky that Sydney Bristow was so patient. After three hours picking at the lock to her handcuffs, she finally heard the expected click, as the lock disengaged. Rubbing her wrists to try and get some feeling in her hands again, Sydney sat up a second before untying her feet. She looked at the clock again. 2:00 AM.  
  
Silently tiptoeing across the floor, she listened at the closed door, hearing no noise. Was Sark really stupid enough to not keep guards outside her door? Hmmm . . . . . . . . They could be really quiet guards . . . .  
  
She looked hopefully out the window, but noticed behind the curtains that it was barred shut. Damn. Looking around the room, her eyes fell on the wooden chair Sark had been sitting in. Pulling on one of the legs as quietly as possible, it popped out of place rather easily. Luck seemed to be on her side again, finally. Holding the dismembered Chair leg in front of her as a makeshift weapon, she silently opened the door. No guards. Absolutely nothing but dead silence. Sydney got a shiver up her spine telling her something wasn't right. All she could think of to do was keep a sharp lookout, and try to find a way out as soon as possible.  
  
Eyes adjusting to the light, she started to make her way down the long, dark hallway in front of her, one hand holding the chair leg at ready, the other feeling along the wall. Nearing fifty paces -how big was this house, anyway?- she finally felt what she had been looking for-a doorknob. Before she had a chance to grasp it, it began turning in her hand. Someone was on the other side.  
  
Quickly, Sydney ducked to the side of the doorframe, just as she heard it creak open. Luckily, it was too dark for the person to see Sydney standing there, inches away from them, lifting her weapon up to bring it down on their head, should she be discovered.  
  
Eyes accustomed to the darkness, Sydney could just see the shape of the guard's head, standing only a breath away from her. She couldn't risk being discovered. Quickly, she brought her club down on the guard's head, sending him crashing to the ground.  
  
At least, that's what she had intended to do. Sensing movement, he dodged just in time, and quickly grasped Sydney by the wrist, dragging them both to the floor. Sydney groaned at his weight on top of hers.  
  
Using as much strength as possible, considering she still had a nasty hangover, Sydney rolled over on top of him, pinning him beneath her, club raised. He had hit his head on something when they were on the ground, and he seemed to be down for the count. Waiting a few more seconds, Syd finally lowered her weapon, and began searching his pockets for a gun, or knife, or . . . something. Anything but this clumsy chair leg.  
  
Score! She thought . . .In his pocket she found not only a knife, but a flashlight as well. Sydney took a breath. This would make things much easier. She flicked on the flashlight, shining it on her enemy's face for a moment. Instantly she recognized Sark's boyish features. The flashlight cast shadowy silhouettes over half of his face, giving him a dramatic appearance. Syd gasped and stared at a moment in disbelief.  
  
In that moment, Sark's eyes shot open, revealing all their icy coldness. Before Sydney had a chance to react, he was on top of her again, holding her throat with one hand, searching for the gun in his back pocket with the other.  
  
Not to be outdone, Sydney took advantage of his momentary distractedness, kneeing him in the groin and knocking him to the floor. Looking at him now, she realized it was the second time she'd seen him like this, doubled over in pain on the floor. She smiled a second, then in an instant she was behind him, holding his own knife to his throat.  
  
"Good morning Ms. Bristow." she heard him say. Running high on adrenaline and lack of sleep, his voice sounded far off, distant.  
  
"Don't you ever sleep Sark?"  
  
"No." he said simply. He flinched a moment as Syd's hand slid along the back of his trousers, reaching into his back pocket.  
  
"What exactly are you doing, Ms. Bristow?" he asked now, his voice ever so slightly tense. Maybe it was just late at night, but he seemed to be losing his usual smoothness.  
  
"Grabbing this," she said, trading the knife for the gun she had just located, pressing it hard against his temple. She was so close to him she could smell him now, a sweet mix of cologne, wine, and sweat. He smells good, she thought, but then shook her head. Never mind-back to business.  
  
"How large is this house Sark?"  
  
"Too large for you to navigate your way through alone."  
  
"Gimme a break-this is L.A. The house can't be that big or else it would have been shown on TV by now."  
  
"Who says you're still in L.A., Ms. Bristow?"  
  
"What???" It hadn't occurred to her that she might have been asleep for that long. Damn alcohol. It took her a second to realize that Sark was beginning to shake with suppressed laughter. Sydney smacked him upside the head with his own gun. That shut him up.  
  
"May I ask where we are then, Sark?" she said in a quiet, warning tone.  
  
"Paris." there was a light tone in his voice, almost daring her to recall the last time they were in Paris together, when she had been singing love songs to him and Khasinau in a nightclub. Sydney sighed. She had to think this over, and she couldn't do that holding Sark in one hand and a gun in the other. Shoving him in the direction she had come, she led him back into her bedroom and handcuffed him to the bed, much like he had done to her. Convinced that Sark wouldn't be able to bother her too easily now, she sat down on the floor, running all of her Paris contacts through her head. Problem being: they were all connected to SD-6. If Sloane found out she were here, it would undoubtedly blow her cover. And she had no passport. This was perfect.  
  
I'll never drink again . . .  
  
"Face it, Ms. Bristow, you're stuck here," Sark said, reading her mind. Sydney ignored his question. She had begun pacing. If she left Sark tied up here unsupervised, how long would it take him to get out of the handcuffs? How much time would she have? How much time would it take her to get to a phone? She couldn't leave Sark tied up here. As soon as she was far enough away that she couldn't shoot him, he'd call in his guards to track her down. She would make it a mile at most before they caught up with her. But what was she going to do with Sark? Sydney looked down at the gun reluctantly. There was a silencer already screwed on. She could just . . .  
  
No. She couldn't. She would never be able to go through with it, as much as she wanted to. Sydney didn't know why, but for some reason Sark was different.  
  
  
  
But why?? To keep conflicting thoughts from entering her head, Sydney told herself that she wasn't shooting him because she wasn't a monster . . . not like him . . .  
  
Sydney looked down at the gun again. What was that writing on the side?  
  
Wait . . . she thought, This is a Tranq gun. Why would Sark carry tranquilizers instead of real bullets?  
  
This opened up her options considerably. Now, she had no qualms about shooting him.  
  
  
  
"Ms. Bristow, I believe we can help each other. I am your only ticket out of Paris, and you are my only ticket to Irina Derevko. But in order to get anything accomplished, you're going to have to untie me eventually-"  
  
  
  
Bang. Right in the leg. Sark had a surprised look on his face, looking down at the dart now lodged in his thigh, right before he slumped over, out cold. It was obvious he had forgotten about the gun . . . so unlike him. Sydney smiled in spite of herself, then went to go search Sark's room for a phone. She was back in the game.  
  
____________________________  
  
Vaughn had been everywhere and in between all night, chasing leads as to the whereabouts of Sydney Bristow. But all he had were the drunken witnesses at the bar, who were of no use to him except the Bartender-the only sober one in the whole house. And all he could tell was that a young, good-looking guy had picked her up -literally- and left. Vaughn was astounded at this.  
  
"-And you just let the guy pick her up and cart her off?? He could have been a rapist for all you knew-" Vaughn was shouting, out of stress and disbelief.  
  
"Hey, hey . . . Wait a second here . . ." said the Bartender, getting defensive, "I didn't just let him 'cart her off'-I was watching her, and she seemed to recognize the guy. From the way he was holding her, I thought maybe he was her boyfriend or something . . ."  
  
That got Vaughn even more riled up.  
  
"Well, could you at least tell me what he looked like . . ." His cell phone rang.  
  
"Joey's Pizza?" Vaughn immediately forgot all about the bartender.  
  
"Sydney!" he said, grinning from ear to ear, "Where the hell are you?? Me and Will have been looking everywhere . . ."  
  
"I got picked up by an old friend . . . Say-- how soon can you get a plane out to Paris? I don't know how long these tranquilizers last, and I've got a nice surprise for Devlin . . ."  
  
Paris?? Vaughn did a double take . . . What had Sydney been up to? 


	11. Manipulation 11

Sark could see Sydney, typing on her laptop now, in a new change of clothes and a fresh look on her face. It's amazing how fast that woman can bounce back from a hangover, he thought.  
  
Maybe it all depends on the company she's keeping, he thought bitterly as he watched Sydney laugh at something her precious handler had just told her. How pathetic, he thought . . . this guy looks like some lovesick puppy. That look on his face will get him killed someday, when SD- 6 is watching and catches him looking at her like that . . .  
  
Sark doubted that Michael Vaughn was talented at hiding any emotions. He's probably horrible in the field . . .  
  
Sark smiled inwardly, remembering the look on Sydney's face when she had punched him out once in the field. She had no idea . . . No idea of any of it.  
  
That fact of the matter was, Sark would have never been able to seriously harm Sydney or any of her friends. She interested him too much.  
  
Luckily, thought Sark, she still thinks of me as a flat person-a sociopathic assassin incapable of human emotion. Thank God . . . . . . . He had never minded being thought of that way, it made his life simpler. If he was an incomplete person, he didn't feel so bad about taking such life threatening risks day in and day out.  
  
That was what intrigued him about Sydney Bristow-she took the same risks, but still managed to maintain a life outside of it. What that must do to her head, to know that at any moment if someone found out her true identity, her entire world could come crashing down around her. That's what makes her almost stronger than me-she takes risks that jeopardize her whole world-whereas I have made sure not to have a place to belong, for fear of losing it.  
  
Sark vaguely recalled a cold night in January. . . the night they cancelled my heart . . .  
  
  
  
No . . . . . . Don't think about that -But what? it had been so long, he had no memory. Don't think, it will just put you in a mood . . . You're not allowed to have moods, Sark. You have no past and you have no future. There is nothing there. Nothing.  
  
Sark. Why had he even chosen that name? He couldn't remember anymore. He had forced himself to forget anything that could have made him weak.  
  
He glanced at Sydney again. He would have to be careful about that. She still hadn't noticed that he was awake now. Good.  
  
Funny . . . I knew the moment she woke up; her eyelids twitched slightly, they always do when you wake up. And then she was still again. But I knew . . . . . . . I knew . . . . His eyelids began to droop.  
  
The drugs in those tranquilizer darts haven't quite worn off yet, Sark thought wryly, just before losing consciousness once more.  
  
_________________________________  
  
It was so cold . . . So cold . . .  
  
No . . . Nothing happened . . . There is Nothing. You are Nothing. You mean Nothing.  
  
But it was so cold . . . everything died, everyone died.  
  
No, there is Nothing . . .  
  
A little boy, in Ireland. He heard the screams. It was so cold.  
  
No, it was Nothing . . .  
  
He heard the screams . . . felt the warm blood on the cold snow . . . This is what Faith does to you, Boy . . .  
  
No, he saw Nothing.  
  
Holding the man's head in the boy's lap . . . Rivers of blood flowing on his lap . . . This is what Faith does to you, Boy, he whispered . . . And then his was the only blood flowing, through his heart before it died.  
  
No, Nothing died . . . There was Nothing there to begin with.  
  
Crimson snow . . . This is what Faith does to you, Boy . . . He saw the cold hands, the Blood, the lifeless eyes and the pallid cheeks . . . In the snow, it was so cold.  
  
No, he felt Nothing.  
  
Saw the Silent screams on the faces . . . In the snow, the crimson snow . . .He felt his heart stop beating . . . He felt his hands . . . He was as cold as the snow . . . This is what Faith does to you, Boy . . .  
  
No, there was Nothing.  
  
Sweet, silent snowfall . . . The bittersweet smell of blood and tears . . . He saw the faces . . . This is what Faith does to you, Boy . . . He saw her Face . . .He felt the Cold and he saw her face . . .  
  
No, he Felt Nothing.  
  
He saw her face in the cold . . . Frozen tears on white cheeks . . . Graceful ribbon of blood running down her cheek where tears should be . . . This is what Faith does to you, Boy . . .  
  
No, there was Nothing.  
  
His Mother's Face . . . In the silent cold sweet snow . . . Held her cold Face, blood running on his cold hands . . . This is what Faith does to you, Boy . . .  
  
No, he Felt Nothing.  
  
Blood cold, tears cold, face cold, hands cold, Heart Cold . . .  
  
No, he Felt Nothing.  
  
No tears, no laughs . . .  
  
He Felt Nothing.  
  
Silent Crimson Snow . . . So Cold, so cold . . .  
  
He Felt Nothing.  
  
Dead Faces, Dead Heart. My Heart Died.  
  
Nothing died. There was Nothing.  
  
My Heart Died.  
  
There was NOTHING.  
  
This is what Faith does to you, Boy . . .  
  
___________________________  
  
"NOTHING!!" Sark had screamed himself awake.  
  
Sydney rushed over to him, staring at him intently. There was absolutely no trace of the usual uncaring façade he usually wore. His eyes were wide, Blue, Full of Emotion. Bewilderment , surprise, fright, anguish and sadness were wrapped up contorted in his face. Sydney spoke softly to him.  
  
"What's wrong, Sark?" The named somehow didn't seem to fit him right now.  
  
He bent his head down, his face blazing with the effort of trying to regain the usual composure and smoothness he had perfected over the years. Breathing heavily, blinking and squinting rapidly, his lips twisting in and out of a frown. He finally shut his eyes tight, leaning his head back against the wall of the compartment.  
  
"It was Nothing."  
  
"Sark-"  
  
"Sydney, Please go."  
  
"But-"  
  
"GO!"  
  
Sydney shook her head and got up. He hadn't called her "Miss Bristow." She had never seen Sark showing honest emotion before, but she had a feeling she was witnessing it now. Just before she walked back to rejoin Vaughn at the front of the plane, she bent down close, holding him. He was shivering.  
  
"I understand you better than you think." Sydney whispered in his ear, then began walking back the front of the plane.  
  
Then she heard him, almost inaudibly whisper once more.  
  
"It was Nothing."  
  
___________________________  
  
___________________________  
  
"Sydney?" Vaughn broke her train of thought in the warehouse. She hadn't even heard him walk up. Looking up at him, she could see lines of worry etched in his face. They seemed to always be present when he was with her.  
  
"Hey Vaughn." Sydney smiled softly at him. He bent down beside where she was sitting, and looked intently into her eyes.  
  
"What were you thinking about a second ago? You looked like you were miles away."  
  
That was a more complicated question than he knew. What had she been thinking about? Everything. But for all her pondering, all she could seem to come up with was more questions. Questions about her own insecurities, Sark and his secrets, the events of the past week, and a tender kiss in a bar . . .  
  
Sydney bit her lip and looked down. Vaughn seemed to get the message. They had managed to avoid the subject until now. Standing up quickly, he started to debrief her.  
  
"So basically all you do for this operation is-"  
  
"Vaughn . . ."  
  
"What Sydney?" he said, tense.  
  
"We can't avoid this forever. We need to talk." Vaughn looked down and ran his fingers back through his hair, like he always did when he was nervous. The light behind him cast a silhouette of his form. Sydney could just make out the profile of his soft eyelashes, blinking. Then he looked at her.  
  
"I know." Sydney sighed.  
  
" Vaughn, all I want to say is that I'm sorry I kissed you." There. She'd said it. Letting out an embarrassed laugh, she continued.  
  
"Just write it off as me being drunk and vulnerable . . . and stupid," that wasn't the whole truth, and she knew it, but she couldn't admit her true reasons to Vaughn. "I know you're with Alice, and it was highly unprofessional of me-I'm . . . . . I'm sorry. I understand why you left." She let out an exasperated breath. It felt good to get that off her chest. Vaughn sat down next to her, an odd twinkle in his eyes.  
  
"Syd-It's not how you think," he started softly, smiling, "First, I want to say I'm sorry too . . . You called me for help and support, and I just screwed you up even more. It's just . . . I dunno-" he shook his head, trying to get the words out. Standing up, he paced for a moment, fingers running through his hair again. Crap, thought Sydney-- I hope I didn't screw anything up for him with Alice. Looking up, Sydney realized Vaughn had stopped pacing and was staring at her again. He seemed to have made up his mind on what he was going to say.  
  
"Here's the thing-" he started, then stopped, and started again. "Here's the thing-You are the most complicated, intriguing person I have ever known. And what's more, you seem to totally understand me, and I think by now I've pretty much got a handle on you too. It's like-I dunno, we fit . . . . . I don't feel alone when I'm with you." he sat down beside her again.  
  
"Syd, Alice and I broke up right before you called . . . And before you say anything it had nothing to do with you-" he paused a moment. "She just didn't understand me-and I never really felt like I belonged, when I was with her. And then when you said all those things at the bar, I don't know . . . . . . It was like you had just shown me a whole other side of you. Everything you said . . . I just, understood it. I related to you . . . . . . And then, you kissed me . . . . ."  
  
Sydney looked down, embarrassed. Vaughn cupped her face in his hands, tilting her head up so she was looking at him again. She noticed the worry lines were gone from his face, for once, leaving only a soft expression, and deep soulful eyes. Staring at her with full knowledge of what she was going through. He slid his hands down off her face once more, leaving a tingling feeling where they'd been.  
  
"So Syd, for the record, the only reason I stopped kissing you was because I cared too much. I don't to put you in any more danger than you're already in. I have enough trouble getting to sleep anyways when you're out in the field . . . . I couldn't stand losing you just because I was being stupid." Vaughn gave a slight smile. Sydney smiled back. Tentatively, he put his arm around her, pulling her close. She laid her head down on his shoulder. He was so warm, so close. Kissing the top of her head, he smoothed out her hair and held her tighter.  
  
  
  
They held each other for a long time. 


	12. Manipulation 12

Devlin stared at Sark's face through the glass of his cell. It was much like Derevko's cell in shape and form-concrete and Plexiglas, completely impenetrable, and monitored at all times. He had to give Sydney Bristow credit; she always seemed to turn a situation to her advantage. Not many agents could go into an operation tied up and kidnapped and come out with a tranquilized deadly assassin. Now if the assassin would only talk.  
  
"Listen, Mr. Sark . . . . I have been given to go ahead to order your execution without trial." In true interrogator fashion, Devlin paused a second to let the words sink in. He was disappointed to see it seemed to have absolutely no effect on Sark. He just continued to stare blankly back at him, almost as if the words weren't reaching him. Devlin continued.  
  
"Now, the only thing that could possibly saved your undeserving ass is if you decided to cooperate with us." Sark continued to stare back at Devlin. It was unnerving.  
  
"Agent Sydney Bristow has told us that you have been privy to a lot of intel in your few years as an independent agent. All the CIA asks in exchange for your life is that we might be able to wrack your brain every once in awhile when needed." Devlin shoved paperwork (unstapled) and a pencil through to slot, "Just read through those documents and sign them if you wish to cooperate with the us, Mr. Sark." He still hadn't spoken, but he was writing something in big block letters on the back of one of the sheets of paper. When he was finished, he pressed it up against the Plexiglas wall for him to see-  
  
  
  
I WILL ONLY TALK TO SYDNEY BRISTOW.  
  
  
  
Damn, thought Devlin, not another one. Were all of his prisoners going to feel the need to only converse with that woman? This was going to be problem if this continued. Sark gave him a questioning look, silently asking him if he agreed to those terms.  
  
Despite his misgivings, Devlin nodded yes. What the hell? It's no different from Derevko. . .  
  
_________________________________  
  
"He said what??" Sydney Bristow was in a conference room with Devlin, Vaughn, and her father, discussing what was fondly being called the "Sark Issue".  
  
"Didn't say so much as he wrote it," Devlin said gruffly, "He wasn't kidding when he said he wasn't going to talk."  
  
Vaughn broke in protectively.  
  
"With all due respect Sir, you can't ask Syd-Agent Bristow to do this. She's been put through enough thanks to Sark-" Sydney put a hand up to stop him.  
  
"Look, I'm afraid it's our only option. This guy isn't afraid of dying, so Agent Bristow is pretty much our only bargaining chip with him.." I love how they talk about me as if I'm not here, Syd thought, rolling her eyes slightly, just enough for Vaughn to notice. He suppressed a smile.  
  
"It's okay," she said, "I'll agree to do it." All three gave her a surprised look. They were expecting more of a fight.  
  
"Then it's settled." Devlin said, satisfied.  
  
Vaughn pulled her over to a corner right after leaving the conference room.  
  
"Are you sure you want to do this Sydney?" Vaughn looked at her questioningly. God, he has beautiful eyes . . . Okay, mind OUT of the gutter Sydney . . .  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure." Sydney wasn't sure exactly why she was doing this, but she felt the need to learn more about him.  
  
"Why?" asked Vaughn, echoing her thoughts. He was really worried about her.  
  
"I dunno . . . . It's hard to explain." she started, not knowing how to word this. She wanted to be honest with Vaughn.  
  
"It's like . . . . We understand each other." Vaughn just shook his head, more worried then ever.  
  
___________________________________  
  
The automatic doors locked behind her with a satisfying click, leaving Sydney alone to talk to Sark. Though she knew all she had to do was press a button to exit again, she still felt trapped inside. It was the same feeling she used to have when she talked to her mother, before they had grown closer again. What she was beginning to realize that it wasn't the room she felt trapped in, but the vulnerability she felt when she talked to people who knew her as well as Sark did. Deep down, it frightened her that Sark had been able to read her that easily, knowing all her secrets in just a few days. And now she was alone in a room with him.  
  
Well, not really alone, she amended. She looked up to the security camera for reassurance, knowing Vaughn was probably watching on the other end.  
  
"Searching for your precious handler again, Miss Bristow?" Sark's cold voice cut through her.  
  
"Good afternoon to you too, Sark" Sydney said sarcastically, sitting down.  
  
"Well that's going to be a helpful way to get information out of me. Sarcasm. Why don't you try something new and different and be cordial for a change?" Sark's gaze penetrated her.  
  
"I'll be nice, Sark, when you display honest emotion." Sydney said, face close to the glass, inches away from Sark's. His eyes flashed for a moment, in his usual blink-and-you'll-miss-it display of emotion.  
  
"How many security cameras are recording us, Miss Bristow?" He asked, ignoring the question.  
  
"Just one." she answered, truthfully. And it couldn't even pick up sound. Devlin trusted her enough to minimal surveillance in the room, which Syd took to be a sign of respect. She wasn't about to tell Sark that last part, though.  
  
"What angle?" he asked.  
  
"Directly behind me." Sydney said. Why was she being this honest with him? No doubt he was planning escape methods.  
  
"Why do you want to know?" she added, as an afterthought.  
  
"Just wanted to know how much privacy I had been given. By the way, is our conversation being recorded, Miss Bristow?"  
  
Now how to answer that . . . Sydney thought. Oh what the Hell. I've been honest this much so far. Besides, Sydney had some personal questions for Sark that she didn't really want Devlin hearing anyways.  
  
"No." she said simply.  
  
"You're being startlingly honest Miss Bristow. It's almost suspicious." Of course Sark wouldn't take her at word.  
  
"It's your choice whether you believe me or not, Sark." she said, a cocky smirk growing on her face. How many times had she been in the reverse situation? The irony seemed to dawn on Sark as well, because a hint of a smile began playing on his lips. It wasn't the sarcastic smile he usually wore when he was working at hiding his emotions either, it seemed to be a true smile, though he was doing his best to try and suppress it. Sydney wished he wouldn't. It fit beautifully on him.  
  
"I'm satisfied with your word for now," he replied, "Now, were you just going to sit here and banter with me all day, or is there something you would actually like to ask me?" The sarcastic smirk returned.  
  
"Yes, actually," Sydney said, surprised that he wanted to actually do business right off the bat. She had been preparing herself for a whole lot more baiting before he got professional. "First of all, the CIA would like to know what your motives were for creating an alliance with Sloane." Sydney looked up, her face still inches away from the glass. Sark didn't seem to be listening, just staring at her and thinking.  
  
"I didn't ask what the CIA wanted to know, I asked what you wanted to know." Smirk. Sark got up out of his chair to stretch his legs.  
  
"Have you ever seen the movie Silence of the Lambs, Miss Bristow?" he asked randomly. Of course she had. It actually reminded her quite a bit of the situation in front of her, though Sydney didn't find Sark nearly as sinister as Hannibal Lecter. She was beginning to see faint edges of humanity with Sark.  
  
"Yes," she replied. She had a feeling she knew where this conversation was heading, and she really didn't want to go there. Time for a change of subject.  
  
"Were you even listening to the question, Sark?"  
  
"Of course I was," he said offhandedly, beginning to pace in thought.  
  
"I have an idea," he said, sitting down to face her once more. He almost seemed eager. Both heads were touching the glass, the only thing separating them. Both were eyeing each other.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I enjoyed that trick he used, in the movie. I answer your questions, and you answer mine. That way we're both open to each other. Deal?" He stared at her challengingly, eyes deep, blue, and penetrating.  
  
"Since when did you become such a movie buff?" Syd asked, dodging. She leaned back in her chair once more, using every ounce of mental strength to break eye contact with him. Sark was smiling, daring her.  
  
"Just answer the question, Sydney."  
  
He'd called her Sydney again. It took her a second to realize that they had both had their barriers down for awhile now. Sydney looked at Sark again, his face close to the glass, one eyebrow raised-- taunting her. Tempting her.  
  
  
  
Syd took a breath.  
  
  
  
"Deal." 


	13. Manipulation 13

Sark smiled and leaned back in his chair, studying Sydney Bristow once more. She was so perplexing-A compelling puzzle he felt the need to unravel. And she had just agreed to let him unscramble her mind for his own amusement. Of course, he had done the same thing, essentially. Question for a question. Secret for a secret. But he would never reveal any of his secrets, no. Though his face was stoic, inside he was laughing. Sark knew he was a good liar. He wouldn't tell her anything. He could always lie.  
  
"I get the first question," Sydney said, trying to regain control over the conversation. She could be so naïve at times.  
  
"Alright," Sark agreed, "what is the question?"  
  
"Same as before. What was your motive for forming an alliance with Sloane?" That was all she could come up with? How mundane.  
  
"I was hoping to infiltrate the Alliance subtly through Sloane, in hopes to eventually assassinate them." That was mostly truth. There were other, more personal reasons he had chosen the SD-6 arm of the Alliance, but those were the basic facts. Sydney looked at him quizzically.  
  
"But why choose the SD-6 arm?" Sark smirked. She was caught up in it already.  
  
"Not so fast, Miss Bristow," he said, amused, "One question at a time."  
  
"Alright, fine. What's your question?"  
  
Sark sat a moment, looking at her. There were so many things he wanted to figure out about her . . . Where to start? He needed to gauge this carefully, just in case she got fed up playing games. He didn't want to risk losing her curiosity. Sydney was giving him an impatient look. He took no heed of it. This was a perfect moment, and if there was one thing in life he still had a passion for, it was relishing the moment. Finally he came to a decision.  
  
"Alright," he said, his eyes pouring into hers, "we'll start simple. If you weren't in the spy business, what would you be doing with your life right now?"  
  
_____________________________________  
  
Sydney was taken aback. She was sure he was going to ask her something at least slightly difficult to answer. He was pacing it, she realized. He's starting like this to keep me in the game. She had only agreed to this because she was curious about him. She wasn't going to actually answer any of his questions truthfully. Sydney was good at lying. She'd been living a double -No, triple-life this whole time, she had better be good at lying. She wouldn't tell him a thing. She could always lie.  
  
This question seemed innocent and easy enough though. She had actually had this scenario completely planned out in her head. At night she replayed it over and over in her mind. It kept her sane.  
  
"I'd be in a Mediterranean beach town, with a family. I would never get dressed up in anything sexy or tight ever again, and I would not own ONE pair of high-heeled shoes. And I would stay in one place, never traveling, and I would own a poetry bookstore." Sydney smiled at the thought, her words slightly breathless.  
  
Sark smiled a genuine smile, and gazed off, not quite seeing her. Sydney wished she could trap that smile in a jar and keep it. She was sure to never see it again.  
  
"With the complete works of Pablo Neruda." he said, more to himself than to Sydney. She looked at him, surprised. She wouldn't have taken him for a Pablo Neruda fan. Neruda was emotional, unstructured, open. The complete opposite of Sark. That was why he was Sydney's favorite. His poetry was pure, honest, emotion, something Syd never found in her real life. Everyone had secrets.  
  
Sark looked back at Sydney, the emotion once again drained from his face.  
  
"Thank you." he said, simply.  
  
It was her turn to ask a question.  
  
"Why did you choose SD-6 for your operations?"  
  
Sark sat there, thinking a minute, before answering.  
  
"It seemed the most convenient, since I had worked for Irina Derevko, and her husband and daughter both happened to work there. Plus I had had prior dealings-" he coughed, stifling a laugh, "with your agency." By 'dealings' he meant fights with me, I'm sure, Sydney thought, looking at the twinkle in his eye. Sydney waited for him to continue. She could tell in his eyes that that wasn't all there was too it.  
  
"You're lying." she said, when he didn't continue. She could see his eyes lose their spark as he retreated further into his mind, blocking her out. He let out an exasperated sigh.  
  
"Look, Miss Bristow, you can either take it or leave it, that's the only explanation I am giving you."  
  
"Fine," she said, smiling, "But since you didn't tell the whole truth, I get to ask another question." He looked at her a moment, not agreeing with her, not disagreeing. Just staring.  
  
"What is your real name?" This question wasn't for Devlin or Vaughn or her father. This was something she wondered just out of her own curiosity.  
  
______________________________________________  
  
It was beginning to sink into Sark's brain that this wasn't going to be as easy as he had originally thought. It was true that he had her figured out, but now he was getting the feeling that Sydney had him figured out as well. She knew it when he lied. For the first time in a long time, Sark was uneasy.  
  
"What is your real name?" she asked. What was his real name?  
  
. . . Hell if I know, Sark thought. Okay, time to make something up. Don't be so obvious this time Sark. He had made a mistake in underestimating her. He wouldn't do that again.  
  
"It's Brian."  
  
  
  
"You're lying."  
  
  
  
"No I'm not!" Sydney smiled, enjoying his outburst. Somewhere along the way they had switched roles. No wonder she'd gone off and gotten herself drunk, he thought. This is horrible.  
  
  
  
"Sark . . . Just answer the question." One eyebrow raised. Smirk. Jesus Christ . . .  
  
  
  
"Fine . . . . . . I-- I don't know."  
  
  
  
"Come on Sark. . ."  
  
"I DON'T KNOW!!" he said, exploding once again. She was screwing up his cool. Why did I agree to only talk to her? Oh yeah, because I thought I could handle her, he thought. Sark hated admitting he was wrong. He ran his hands through his hair, and looked at her. For some reason he seemed to be losing the ability wear his apathetic mask around her. It had started when she talked about The bookshop on the Mediterranean. It was the same thing he always dreamed of ding, if things had been different. And then he had smiled-- He could have kicked himself. Never forget Sark. You have no emotions. You feel Nothing. You are Nothing.  
  
"How do you not know your own name?" Now her eyes were penetrating him. She made him want to implode. He couldn't help it. It ached. He broke her gaze, looking down at the ground.  
  
"I-I've forgotten." he said, unnerved. She seemed to know he was telling the truth; she didn't pursue it further. He couldn't believe she had done this to him. It was bad enough he awoke from his dreams earlier to have her leaning over her, but now this. She was hollowing him out. He wanted revenge, and he knew just how to get it.  
  
"My turn to ask a question." he said, looking up at her once more.  
  
"What is the last serious relationship you've had, and how did it end?" Talking about Danny always hit a sore spot on her. He wanted to hit her where it hurt. If looks could kill, he thought, as he saw her glare.  
  
"You know perfectly well how it ended. Danny is dead, Sloane killed him." Her eyes started to well up defiantly. Sark almost felt guilty for a moment, but then he looked deep into her eyes. She was crying awfully easily, he realized. Sydney's like me-- she doesn't wear her heart out on her sleeve. There's something I didn't know about going on here-he realized. The little manipulator-he thought, laughing. She learns quick. Or maybe she always knew.  
  
____________________________  
  
Sark was laughing at her. Sydney couldn't believe it. What heartless person would laugh after she had just described her fiancé's death? Okay, so Syd had fibbed a little. Her last serious relationship had been Noah-but he didn't need to know about that. Nobody knew about that. Not all of it. And she certainly wasn't about to tell Sark the sardonic details of her love life.  
  
"That wasn't your most recent relationship though, was it, Sydney? There was somebody else . . ." he said in what sounded like a dawning realization.  
  
"Who was it Sydney? Your precious handler, who left you for somebody less complicated?" Sark was deliberately trying to push her buttons, regain control of the conversation.  
  
"Leave Vaughn out of this!" she said before she could stop herself. Sark's look softened. He had called her Sydney again.  
  
"Who was it, Sydney?" Sydney looked away, her face hardened from emotion. The fake tears had gone from her face.  
  
"He-he worked at SD-6 . . ." her voice sounded hollow, unlike herself. She took a fleeting look at Sark, and wished she hadn't. He was staring at her silently, with such intensity that she couldn't turn her eyes away.  
  
"I had met him a while back, before Danny and we had had a thing-" she said, trying to make it sound as petty as possible. It wasn't really, and she didn't know why she was doing it. "Through some misunderstandings- Mostly Sloane-We broke it off . . ." Sydney looked down at the ground again. She couldn't keep looking at Sark.  
  
"But then last spring, we ran into each other . . . I was ona mission in France, and he ws stationed there. We figured out our misunderstandings, and . . . . . I dunno . . . . It was like no time had passed between us . . ." Sydney smiled, "But anyways, um . . . it ended up that he kept some things from me . . . namely, that he was a hired assassin."  
  
"I was on a mission with Dixon. We had just entered a house where this assassin had supposedly just finished a job. I found him, and I did exactly what I had been trained to do-I took him down. It wasn't til I had pulled off the guy's ski mask that I found out that I had just killed Noah." a burning sensation was growing behind Syd's eyes.  
  
"He had been talking about leaving the business-and how he wanted me to come with him . . ." Sydney stood up, facing away from Sark momentarily to hide her pain.  
  
______________________________________  
  
Sark saw a single tear glide down her cheek when Sydney turned around again. Other than that, her face showed no emotion. A pang of guilt wracked through him a moment. Well, he had wanted to hurt her. And he had managed. He wondered briefly why he seemed to always be the cause of her sadness. Sark shook his head a moment. This was an interrogation session, not bonding time. Though what the CIA would want with his real name he could not imagine.  
  
Sydney sat facing Sark once more, close to the glass. Lightly, Sark touched the glass with his finger, tracing the track of her tear.  
  
"I'm sorry." was all he said. Sydney nodded, understanding. Suddenly her cell phone rang. Sydney stood to take the call, facing away from him once more. Sark was beginning to miss her face.  
  
"Hey Vaughn . . . . . Yeah, I got it . . . . I'm almost finished . . . . Gimme another minute. . . . . . . . Okay . . . . . . . Okay."  
  
Turning back to Sark, he could tell that she had recomposed herself. The barriers that had crumbled were slowly being rebuilt. But there was time for one more question. She leaned in close enough to him that he could see her breath fogging up the glass, momentarily hiding her lips from view.  
  
"Why do you not sleep?" she asked.  
  
Sark looked at her a moment. The glass created a thin barrier, but it was there. If it disappeared right then, he wouldn't have been able to resist kissing her.  
  
"I dream of things forgotten. I do not wish to remember."  
  
She nodded knowingly, and walked out, leaving him alone to his thoughts. 


	14. Manipulation 14

Sydney walked out of the room feeling a bit confused, though it had felt good to talk someone again. Other than Vaughn, she thought, smiling. That was what confused her more than anything else. It had been simpler, she thought, when she still knew Sark as your run-of-the-mill sociopath instead of the complicated structure that he was. She needed to make a decision about what she wanted in life. He had been right all along in the beginning. They weren't that different from each other. In fact, if things had turned out differently, they might have even been friends.  
  
Carefully filing her highly *selective* report on what was said during interrogation, Sydney decided that she needed time to think. Making a quick change of clothing, she drove to the one place that helped her relax. The track.  
  
Something about the rhythmic pounding of feet, and the eventual runner's high always seemed to put order and sense to her thoughts. When all she concentrated on was the movement of her feet on the track surface, all other worries seemed to sift into place, questions were answered without ever being asked aloud.  
  
This was where she had gone after Will had been kidnapped, after Noah had died, after Francie and Sark-- After Danny. She remembered how she had had to handle her emotions after Danny had been murdered-not being able to talk to anyone, bottling up her feelings of guilt and betrayal. She had blamed Sloane-but moreover she had blamed herself for what had happened. Not many had known the whole story. It had been raining the day she had come out here-and after 4 hours straight of running, her whole body wet and numb with the cold, she hadn't been able to tell the difference between the raindrops on her face and the tears coursing down her cheeks. She never hid her emotions here.  
  
It was here with the rhythmic pounding in her head that Sydney admitted to herself that Sark was becoming an attraction-to be handled with great care. She wasn't in love with him, she knew that much. Even if I had been, Syd thought, I don't completely lack integrity. She hadn't forgotten what Sark had to done to Will; how he had manipulated Francie. Memories of yesterday filled her head, when she had come home from Paris to find Francie crying on the couch.  
  
Francie had looked up at her, tears filling her eyes.  
  
"Where have you been? I have been freaking out . . ." she had said. Sydney had covered with a story about some emergency bank trip. But Sydney had been able to tell that that wasn't the real reason Francie was crying. Like always, Syd had known just what to do. She sat down and listened, as Francie drunkenly poured out the entire story, about "Chris" leaving a message on the machine, ending everything. Further into the conversation Francie had begun talking to Sydney again- really talking to Sydney, none of the usual fake smiles that they had been using lately. She told Syd about her frustration that she wasn't around anymore-"Not since the Bank . . ." And for the first time in a long time, Sydney listened. Really listened. And when she made an apology, it was an honest one. She had begun to realize that Sark may have been wrong about a few things-she wasn't using Francie anymore.  
  
  
  
It felt good to have al least one relationship back to normal.  
  
  
  
So No . . . she reaffirmed to herself . . . Sark intrigued her, sparked her curiosity, and (if she was being honest) tempted her, but she could never love him. She would never have anything close to a normal relationship with him. If Sydney was going to be in love, she was going to make sure it wasn't complicated. At least, not THAT complicated, she amended. There was another relationship forming in her life, that could grow to be just as complicated, if not more so.  
  
The problem was, she realized, that she was falling in love with someone else- Vaughn. This complicated things even more.  
  
______________________________________  
  
"Basic Mission Overview, you'll be going to Moscow to retrieve a file containing codes to part of the K-directorate mainframe." Vaughn and Sydney were in the warehouse again, pretending to be professional, but Sydney kept catching the stolen looks, and the worry lines popping up on his head. Worrying for her.  
  
"The catch is, you'll be taking your mother with you, as backup. This place I like a maze-we don't have enough intel to know how to get in and out of it easily, but Irina does. The thing that worries me is the your dad won't be there to supervise either, he's still doing some work for Sloane. It'll just be you and your mom there, Sydney . . . . Are you up for that?"  
  
Sure she was. She had known about it a week ago, when Sark had informed her of it. Sydney smiled, taking Vaughn's hand and squeezing it. If she could just lean in and kiss him like she had done at the bar . . . but unfortunately, her inhibition had been lost once the alcohol wore off.  
  
The plusses and minuses of drinking, she thought-  
  
On one side, you have no qualms about kissing the love of your life, even though it could reap consequences such as getting shot and killed. On the other hand, it gives others an open opportunity to pick you up and cart you off to Paris while you are passed out.  
  
Jesus, he's gorgeous, she thought . . . and he genuinely cares. With his slightly tousled hair, his soft eyelashes and his deep brown eyes, he seemed so soft. She might have been drunk, but she remembered how tender it had felt kissing him. Inadvertently, Sydney began leaning into him. Vaughn seemed to have the same idea. His head tilted slightly towards her, reaching to meet her halfway . . . .  
  
Suddenly, they heard a door slam farther off. Weiss's voice filtered through the gray.  
  
"Vaughn? Syd? Guys?"  
  
Panic bells sounded in Syd's mind. That was too close. Pulling back and withdrawing her hand, she stood up hurriedly, smoothing out her skirt.  
  
"Don't worry Vaughn, I'll be fine . . ." she said, not looking at him. How was she going to keep going like this?  
  
  
  
Popping his head in, Weiss looked at the two of them strangely, but wisely didn't ask for an explanation. He wasn't born yesterday.  
  
"Guys, Devlin just called an emergency meeting. Sark's escaped." 


	15. Manipulation 15

"Where is he??" Sydney said, voice raised, frustrated. She was staring at the empty cell that had previously held Sark. All that was left in the room was a mattress on the floor, and a blanket, slightly rumpled, right next to it. It must have been part of the façade Sark had left behind after he had gone-Sydney knew that he never slept.  
  
"Hell if I know, Agent Bristow." Devlin snapped, banging his fist against the glass. Vaughn was talking to Weiss off to the side, but Syd noticed he looked preoccupied. I wonder what he makes of all this, she thought. How could he have gotten out?  
  
Jack Bristow stood erect in the corner, brooding and stoic. His face never changed, but Sydney had gotten a little better at reading him over the years. It was still difficult to tell what he was thinking-it was one of the reasons he made such a good agent. He turned when he saw her looking at him, walking over to her.  
  
"Did Sark say anything to you at all that gave you the indication that he was planning escape? Anything you didn't file in the report?" Her father spoke low, to avoid Devlin overhearing. Sometimes Sydney wondered if her Dad was on anybody's side at all, keeping secrets from both SD-6 and the CIA  
  
"There was nothing else." Syd was learning how to lie with expert efficiency. She was good enough to convince her own father now. God, I'm a horrible person, Syd thought, only half serious.  
  
"Alright everybody . . . This was just a bonus, and it's gone now. Life will go on as normal. Sydney, you're still on for the mission to Moscow with Derevco. In the meantime, Weiss, assemble a team to investigate Sark's disappearance. Send out notices to the airports. I don't think Sark would be stupid enough to travel mainstream, but you never know, you could get lucky." Devlin didn't get distracted easily, and this time was no different. But it had been different for Sydney.  
  
She sighed and gathered her jacket up, ready to go out into the evening rain once more. There was nothing more to be done.  
  
_________________________________  
  
Sydney listened to Sarah Mclachlan on the way home in an attempt to calm her shaky nerves. Even after she had parked in front of her house, she just sat there with her eyes closed, engine off, listening to the music. This week had been hectic. More hectic than others.  
  
"Make me a witness . . . . . . . ."  
  
The rain spattered rhythmically on the roof of her car.  
  
"Take me out . . . . . Out of darkness, out of Doubt . . . . . . . . ."  
  
  
  
The beat of the rain, the soft music, and the cool air only enhanced Sydney's fatigue. It wasn't long before she was fast asleep in the front seat, keys still in the ignition, the battery still running.  
  
_________________________________  
  
It was twelve and Syd still wasn't back yet. Francie was getting worried. She knew that at work her bosses were Nazis, but nobody's supposed to work late til twelve. If there was only some way that she could convince Syd to give up her job . . . . . . . Francie knew it paid well, but she could tell it was driving Syd insane. Nervously, she glanced out the window, her eyes widened in surprise.  
  
Syd's car had been parked out front all along, with Syd asleep in the front seat. This job's really did take a lot out of her. Running out with her purple umbrella and bunny slippers (Jesus, it was cold), she rapped frantically on Syd's window. She was gonna run out her battery if she stayed in there much longer. Francie could hear Sarah Mclachlan crooning faintly through the speakers.  
  
As soon as she heard the noise, Syd jumped up in rapt attention. Francie never understood how Syd never seemed to get groggy; she just bounced right up. It was like she ran on adrenaline. When Syd saw Francie, she shook her head, laughing at herself, and turned off the car.  
  
"What were you doing?" Francie asked, laughing. "Hon, you need a vacation. Tell your boss if he doesn't give you time off soon, I'm gonna go down there and kick his ass myself." Sydney laughed, getting out of the car.  
  
"Somehow Francie I don't think that would be a good idea. You see-" Sydney didn't finish. Francie looked down. She hadn't noticed the book that had fallen off her lap when she had gotten out of the car. Obviously Sydney hadn't either, judging from the surprised look displayed on her face as she picked the book up off the wet street.  
  
Wiping some of the rain off the cover, Sydney looked down to examine the title. It was an old-fashioned, crimson hard covered book, with gold embossed lettering for the title. Francie craned her neck to read.  
  
THE POEMS OF PABLO NERUDA  
  
"Funny, I don't even remember having this with me in the car earlier . . . ." Syd said, distant. She was smiling one of those secretive smiles, that Francie knew usually led to trouble. Francie laughed, and grabbed her arm, dragging her under the umbrella and out of the rain.  
  
"You're crazy sometimes, Syd."  
  
"Somehow I get the feeling this wasn't in my car at all from the start . . ." Francie had no idea what she was talking about. But then she only understood her friend about half the time anyways, and that was fine with her. Syd stuck the book in her bag, and arm in arm they walked up the slick cement steps, into the house.  
  
__________________________________________  
  
  
  
3 AM.  
  
The red numbers on Syd's alarm clock blinked at her, almost as if they were trying to tell her that nobody sane would be up at this hour except herself. But she couldn't help it. So far in this job she had managed to escape insomnia, but her stress had finally caught up with her. She looked down at her rumpled bedspread, the sheets twisted from her frantic kicking and tossing and turning. Groaning in frustration, Syd turned the alarm clock to the wall so that she couldn't see the numbers. The red light echoed off the wall, sending eerie red shadow bouncing around the room.  
  
Finally Sydney just gave up and unplugged the damn thing. Her glance strayed to the book she had found in her car, now innocently resting on the bureau. This was his fault.  
  
But had she expected anything less?? Not really. Syd knew that if Sark escaped he was bound to taunt her.  
  
It was a beautiful book, simple, crimson cloth binding. Probably first edition, and, if she knew Sark, probably very expensive. She hadn't dared to open the cover yet, but she imagined the papers slightly browned with age, smelling the way all books smell when they have been scented with history. Sydney loved the smell of books. As a child she had gone with her mother to the University Library often just for the smell.  
  
At this point, Sydney had given up going to sleep. Too many thoughts ran through her head for her to contend with dreaming-Best to put this time to good use and investigate things. A devious smile crossed over Syd's face. What I need, she thought, is a little atmosphere . . . .  
  
In the back corner of the closet was an antique candelabra that Syd had bought at an auction two years ago, simply because it gave her the spooky, Poe-ish feeling. Fishing it out of the shadows now, she struck a match, illuminating the darkness and casting an eerie dim glow about the room, creating more shadows than light. Syd smiled again. She loved feeling spooky.  
  
Her bare feet crossed the cold hardwood floor as she picked up the book off the bureau. Reading after midnight had to be one of the coolest activities she knew.  
  
Scanning the book, Sydney saw that all of her favorite poems by him were in there- and a few she hadn't seen before. Just as she had finished the twentieth poem, a slip of paper fell out of the book, gliding to the floor softly.  
  
Sydney picked up the folded scrap of the floor. The words written upon it were punched out from an old typewriter, slightly uneven:  
  
"So that you will hear me My words sometimes grow thin as the track of the gulls on the beaches.  
  
I like for you to be still, and you seem far away. It sounds as though you were lamenting, a butterfly cooing like a dove. And you hear me from far away, and my voice does not reach you: Let me come to be still in your silence.  
  
Oh, let me remember you as you were before you existed.  
  
I am the one without hope, the word without echoes, he who lost everything and he who had everything.  
  
How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.  
  
Your presence is foreign, as strange to me as a thing. I think, I explore great tracts of my life before you. My life before anyone, my harsh life. The shout facing the sea, among the rocks, running free, mad, in the sea spray. The sad rage, the shout, the solitude of the sea. Headlong, violent, stretched towards the sky.  
  
Such a passion of weeping tied to my body. Shaking of all the roots, attack of all the waves! My soul wandered, happy, sad unending.  
  
Who are you, who are you?"  
  
  
  
Sydney read through the poem again. It was a mixed bunch of stanzas from various Pablo Neruda poems . . . cut together in a rather disorganized fashion, but Sydney got its meaning. Sark was trying to relay one last message to her-both hoping and fearing that she might be the one to understand him.  
  
It was probably hastily done on his typewriter, recently after breaking out, inserted into the book before he could think enough to stop himself, Sydney thought, picturing it in her head. Toying with the idea of reporting this to Devlin, Sydney soon decided against it, knowing that the only thing they would do is search the words millions of times for hidden meanings as to his location-meanings that weren't there.  
  
Sydney yawned. She was suddenly very tired.  
  
  
  
It wasn't five minutes after she had closed the book and pinched out the candle flames between her fingertips that she descended into her blissful subconscious, sleeping better than she had in years.  
  
A/N: My apologies to Pablo Neruda* if he is rolling over in his grave right now since I spliced his work. Pablo, buddy, wherever you are, I worship your writing, and I have nothing but the utmost respect for you!** Mini-bib: lines 1-4 came from the poem "So That You Will Hear Me", lines 5- 8 come from the poem "I Like For You To Be Still", line 9 came from the poem "Every Day You Play", lines 10-11 came from the poem "White Bee", 12- 14 came from the poem "Every Day You Play", 15-26 came from the poem "Thinking, Tangling Shadows".***  
  
*If you have not read any of his work, you really should.  
  
**I will marry the man who writes poetry like that for me.  
  
***Thank God for Romantic Chilean Poets!!! 


	16. Manipulation 16

"I have a bad feeling about this mission, Syd."  
  
It was a week after the disappearance of Sark, time for yet another "business trip." Vaughn was watching himself to make sure he stood at least five feet away from Sydney Bristow at all times. He had considered referring to her as "Agent Bristow" again, but realized that that would have been way too weird at this point. Still, he was trying hard to maintain distance. Lately it had seemed that if he got too close to Sydney, she would swallow him whole, and he would never be able to get out again.  
  
Still, inside he worried about her as much as ever, and he couldn't manage to keep his worries about her latest mission inside his head. An UNSUPERVISED mission with her mother, an ENEMY OF THE STATE, to be conducted while a SOCIOPATHIC ASSASSIN who seemed to have great interest in Sydney was STILL on the loose. Why don't we just save the trouble and shoot Sydney in the head ourselves? he thought.  
  
Wait a sec . . . Sydney's saying something to me. He loved the way her lips formed her "O"'s . . . . . . . . If I could just-no, we'd agreed it was too dangerous. But . . . . . . No-Stop Vaughn, he told himself-Think Professional, you are her handler. She's counting on you to be PROFESSIONAL. Now, what was she talking about?  
  
"I'm sorry-what did you say?"  
  
Sydney gave him an odd look. "I asked you what you thought the problem was." she said, shortly. Tension was building up between both of them. There was so much balled up emotion between them, but it never came out the way they wanted it to.  
  
Vaughn noticed she seemed to be using the same tactic the he was using-- keeping distance, not going too deep into conversation. She had her arms crossed over her chest in an effort to build up defenses. Vaughn shook his head. We're both hopeless, he thought.  
  
"Well, for one thing, Sark is still on the loose, and it's obvious he has some plans for you considering his recent-er. . . 'interest' in you. And not to mention, your mother's not exactly on my list of people to trust." Vaughn was starting to really get going. He had had this list of 'reasons to cancel the mission' compiled in his head for quite some time.  
  
"Vaughn-I can take care of myself." she said irritated. He knew that she hated being thought of as a helpless damsel, but that didn't stop him from worrying.  
  
"Syd," he started, patronizing. She never listened to any voices of reason. It was only luck that she had survived this long considering how reckless she was. "We can't afford to bring in an extraction team into the facility-the security's too tight. It'll just be you and Irina. If you get into to trouble, there's not going to be anybody to back you up. I'm just afraid that-" Vaughn stopped himself. He was starting to go over that line again.  
  
"Afraid that what?" Sydney's voice had grown deadly soft. Vaughn didn't look at her.  
  
"I'm just afraid that one of these days I'll watch you die on that stupid black and white surveillance monitor." Vaughn was beginning to feel claustrophobic in this tiny space. He had to get out. He couldn't breathe with Sydney in the room-it hurt too much to be around her and not to have her.  
  
Brusquely walking over to her, he shoved the file he had been holding in her face.  
  
"That covers all the details of the op," he said as he walked out the door, leaving her sitting alone in the room. As an afterthought, he mumbled, "I'll see you when I get back."  
  
__________________________________  
  
When Sydney boarded the private jet to Moscow with her mother, bad feelings unresolved still sat balled up in the pit of her stomach. She had snapped at her mother a few times since boarding, but thankfully, she hadn't commented on Syd's bad mood. Instead, she just smiled in that all- knowing way of hers, and went back to studying her files. Not much else was said.  
  
Five hours into their journey, Sydney alerted her mother that it was almost time.  
  
"We're almost over the facility. You ready?"  
  
"Of course." Irina said, almost regally, "Are you?"  
  
"Yes." Syd said, trying her best to sound convincing. She was hoping against hope that her mood wouldn't affect her performance. In this business, if you aren't completely focused, you're dead.  
  
Mounting on their parachutes and heading towards the rear of the plane, Syd welcomed the blast of cold air that hit her when the back of the plane opened. Nodding once to her mother she jumped out.  
  
It had not taken Syd long in this job to get addicted to the adrenaline rush she felt during moments such as this. Blood coursing through her veins, wind whipping around her body-the ground coming at her a mile a minute. If Syd's muscles hadn't solely been concentrating on the effort of keeping her body rigid, she would have smiled. It was during moments like these she felt truly free.  
  
Irina landed on the roof of the facility just a few seconds after Syd had parachuted gracefully down. She had already stripped off her gear to reveal a stunning red dress that was all curves and cleavage. This always seemed to be the dress code at government parties, Syd thought. You would think that they would be more professional, but no. She still had to endure the high heels and the skintight clothing. She sighed as she walked over to her mother, who was wearing something equally elegant in black.  
  
"I know." Irina said, comfortingly. They had lately been having more and more silent conversations, where words were not needed, there was just instant understanding. "Let's just crash this party and get it over with."  
  
"Sounds like a plan." Syd said, grinning a little. It was almost like old times.  
  
Upon entering the building, Sydney could feel every eye on her and her mother. They obviously didn't mind that Syd had no invitation. All they seemed concerned about was her ass, which they stared intently at as she walked across the ballroom. She was searching for one corrupt politician in particular-- Ah, there he is . . . she thought. The one with the code key. Josef Khirschinov. Irina winked at her, making sure she'd spotted him.  
  
"Hello." she said to him, in a voice much deeper and breathier than her own. He smiled at her, undressing her with his eyes.  
  
"I don't believe I have met you at any of these other functions before. Might I have the pleasure of knowing your name, Madam?"  
  
"Cassandra Smith. And who might you be Sir?" Sydney wanted to puke. This man was way to greasy for words. Why didn't her mom hurry up and pickpocket him already? Looking over his shoulder as he talked on about his own importance, Syd saw her mother was waltzing with someone. Way to go Mom- she thought. Way to keep your focus. Syd would just have to take matters into her own hands. The key card was in his breast pocket . . . .  
  
"Would you care to dance?" she asked, trying to move things along.  
  
"It would be my pleasure." he said, eyeing her again.  
  
Dancing with her hand on his shoulder, all she had to do was pretend to trip once and have him catch her, and before he noticed a thing, the key was in her hand. A few more minutes, and the waltz was over.  
  
"Thank you, Ms. Smith." he said with an oily smile.  
  
"No, Thank you, Mr. Khirschinov." Before he could advance any further, Syd turned and walked away with the code key, grabbing her mother by the arm along the way.  
  
At the top floor, they casually sauntered in, and Irina began the task of finding her way through the labyrinth of halls and rooms in the facility.  
  
"Thanks for all the help back there." Syd commented sarcastically as the made yet another turn down another white hallway.  
  
"I recognized one of Khirschinov's bodyguards from a previous encounter. I couldn't have gotten within twenty feet of that conversation before being recognized. Besides, I knew you could pull it off on your own." Syd sighed. She always managed to have a good excuse. They stopped in front of one of the many identical doors that lined the hallways. The hard part was over.  
  
From there on it was cake. Irina accessed the codes through some leftover voice identification she still had with the KGB, and they were out of the facility within the hour. Sydney loved it when things went according to plan. It was so much simpler, and she got home faster. It seemed that was hardly the case anymore though.  
  
But surprisingly, as planned, they checked into their hotel for the night without any hitches. It had been so long since an operation had run smoothly, Sydney wasn't sure she trusted it. Her suspicions were pretty much dissipated, however, when she turned off the lamp, smiling at her mother in the next bed over.  
  
"Goodnight, Mom."  
  
"Goodnight, Sydney."  
  
_____________________________  
  
At 3 AM Sydney woke up, feeling the icy blue eyes upon her before she even opened her eyes. She looked over-her mother was still asleep, thank God.  
  
"What are you doing here?" she whispered.  
  
"I've come to collect on a favor you owe me." 


	17. Manipulation 17

"What favor?" Syd whispered frantically. She sat straight up, only to find herself looking down the barrel of Sark's gun. Is it too late to grab the gun under my pillow? she thought.  
  
"Toss me the gun under your pillow, Sydney." Sark said, reading her mind.  
  
  
  
Guess so.  
  
  
  
Syd tossed the gun to Sark, knowing it would be hopeless to fight back at this point.  
  
"Thank you." he said, slightly mocking. "Now, if you would kindly wake your mother up, I would like to have a chat with her."  
  
Oh. Now Sydney remembered. THAT favor. She had been hoping to never follow through with it. If only this had been like her other missions, with CIA backup. She vaguely recalled Vaughn's words to her, right before they had gotten into yet another fight.  
  
"I have a bad feeling about this mission, Syd . . . . ."  
  
  
  
She should have listened to him.  
  
"How about this, Sark. You put the gun down, and I'll give you a thirty-second head start before CIA backup starts pouring in. They have the room wired."  
  
Sark laughed at her.  
  
"Sydney, you have become a terrible liar."  
  
  
  
It had been worth a try. Sighing, she flipped open the covers, feeling a bit too exposed for some reason in her PJ sweatpants and tank top. Even more exposed when she caught him staring at her. She hesitated a moment, bent over her mother to wake her.  
  
"By the way . . . . ." This was awkward, but she had to say it. "Thanks for the book."  
  
She cleared her throat.  
  
"And the poem."  
  
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Sydney." Even in the dark, she could tell he was lying just looking in his eyes. Fine, be that way . . . she thought. Syd shook her mother awake.  
  
Irina's eyes popped open, but she didn't move. It almost seemed that she knew immediately what was happening. Syd wasn't surprised. Her mother had a habit of being able to predict everything.  
  
"To what do we owe this pleasure, Sark?" she asked him matter-of- factly.  
  
"Ms. Derevko, I need to speak to you privately," he tossed Sydney his jacket and motioned toward the balcony, "Sydney, if you would just step outside for a moment. You can watch us through the sliding glass door, just in case you have any notions that I am trying to take your mother away from the CIA again."  
  
Silently, Sydney rose and walked towards the door. Suddenly she remembered that the ring she was wearing had been issued to her by the CIA, and had a small recording device inside. Just before stepping out the door, she dropped it quietly on the carpet by the curtains. There. Now she would hear the conversation, whether Sark wanted her to or not.  
  
Once outside, she twisted the back of her earring: the receiver. Their conversation began pouring in. Sark's voice, slightly muffled by static, rang in her ear.  
  
"Eu necessito sua ajuda."  
  
"Por que nós estamos falando no português?" she heard her mother say.  
  
"Sydney não compreende o português." he answered.  
  
"Encontrará uma maneira."  
  
Portuguese. It figures. Oh well, Syd thought, as long as the conversation is recording I can have someone translate it later.  
  
  
  
Ten minutes into the conversation, Sark and Irina were still jabbering on in Portuguese, when suddenly Sark stopped talking and looked straight at Sydney. Never taking his eyes off her, he walked over near the door, bent down, and picked up the ring she had "dropped".  
  
"Nice try, Sydney." he said, talking into the ring, before he dropped it again and crushed it under his heel. Syd winced as a loud static suddenly blared in her ear. Sark smiled, obviously amused. When Syd glared at him, he only shrugged his shoulders and went on smiling. By the time Syd had managed to deactivate the receiver, he was once again deep in conversation with Irina. It was obvious that they weren't going anywhere.  
  
To amuse herself, Sydney looked up at the stars. Half were covered by clouds, but she could just see Orion peeking out into view. She had always been fascinated by that myth. The over-confident hunter-defeated by the one creature he had never taken into consideration-the tiny scorpion. And there he is, Syd thought . . . Right above me. Perpetually fleeing from hidden dangers across the night sky.  
  
One by one the stars seemed to blur in her vision, as her eyes slowly drifted closed.  
  
_________________________________  
  
  
  
Syd was shaken from sleep by her mother the next morning. Sark, of course, was long gone by then. He left his jacket behind with her, which Sydney was thankful for.  
  
"Why didn't you wake me up earlier??" Syd asked, frustrated. Truth be told, she was more infuriated with herself for falling asleep than she was with her mother for not waking her. How could she have been so careless?  
  
"You seemed so peaceful," her mother started, "You must have been so tired. You slept like a rock."  
  
"What did Sark say to you?" Syd asked. She just hoped her mother would give an honest response.  
  
"He wanted information from me-specifically, he wanted to know where the Alliance meetings were held. It seems he has the same plans we do. He's going to try to take down the Alliance." Her mother leaned back, letting the words sink in. They just made Sydney angrier.  
  
"So you felt the need to give Sark this information instead of the CIA?? We could have taken down the Alliance long ago if we had been given that information . . . ." Irina held up her hand, halting her daughter's tirade.  
  
"Sydney, I didn't give him any information that the CIA didn't already have. It's all in my initial statement. The thing is, even if you know where the meetings are held, you still need to hack into the system and retrieve codes to find the exact location and override the security. Apparently, after Sloane took Sark under his wing, Sark used Sloane's access to the Alliance database to hack into the system and get the codes. The only piece of the puzzle that he was missing was the Where." She got up and poured herself a glass of orange juice from the mini-bar.  
  
"Then tell me this-How did Sark get the information this quickly when it's taken Dad a decade to even get close to Sloane?"  
  
"Sark's reckless. He has nothing to lose, so he takes a lot of dangerous risks. It was pure luck that he wasn't found out and killed when he hacked into the database." Syd sighed. She was running out of ammunition, but she still felt so frustrated. Why did it always seem to be that she worked for everything, only to be forced to give it up to Sark at gunpoint?  
  
"But still Mom . . . . . . . Sark? He's pretty much public enemy number one. It would have been better if you had withheld some information."  
  
"He's not as bad as you think, Sydney. He's working towards the same objective, he just goes about things a little differently, and with less of a conscious. He's just been in the business too long, and it's taken its toll."  
  
"You still didn't have to give him the information." Her mother was beginning to look frustrated with her.  
  
"Sydney, he was threatening to kill you. What did you expect me to do? Though, after observing the situation tonight, I'm not at all sure he would have followed through with that threat." A smile began playing on Irina's lips.  
  
"What are you talking about?" Syd asked, irritated. She needed some coffee this morning, definitely.  
  
"I kept catching him looking at you sleeping during our conversation. And he didn't take back his jacket." Irina's smile grew wider. "Is there something I should know Sydney?"  
  
Sydney felt like a teenager being interrogated by her parents after a first date. This was unbelievable.  
  
  
  
"No."  
  
"In that case, take a look in the breast pocket of the jacket. Sark left you a note."  
  
  
  
  
  
Taking it out and unfolding it, Sydney read:  
  
"Sydney-  
  
When you open up that bookshop, I'll be the first customer.  
  
--Sark"  
  
  
  
  
  
Syd couldn't help but smile a little.  
  
"Whatever that note said, it's probably Sark's form of goodbye." Irina broke in, "Chances are he's not coming back from this operation of his alive. Even with security team the size of what he's got, it's pretty much a Kamikaze mission."  
  
"Why is he even bothering then?" Syd said, careful to hide her emotions, which seemed to be rising up.  
  
  
  
"He knows that even if he doesn't succeed in destroying the Alliance, he will at least create sizeable problems. Plus, he's cocky. The young always think that they are invincible." Irina's eyes glazed over, remembering. "Always remember Sydney, bad things can and WILL happen to you. Don't hold anything back. They might not be there tomorrow." she gave Sydney a sullen smile. "I mean, take a look at how I turned out . . . . . . . Things could have been so different."  
  
Looking at her mother for a moment, Syd began to see her as a human being again. It had been a long time since she had thought of her mother as having emotions or weakness. If this whole ordeal had taught her anything, it had shown her that nobody is what they seem on the surface. Reaching out, she pulled her mom into a surprise embrace.  
  
"I know Mom . . . I know." 


	18. Manipulation 18

For love was offered me and I shrank from its disillusionment; Sorrow knocked at my door, but I was afraid; Ambition called to me, but I dreaded the chances, Yet all the while I hungered for meaning in my life. And I know now that we must lift the sail And catch the winds of destiny Wherever they drive the boat. To put meaning to one's life may end in madness, But life without meaning is the torture Of restlessness and vague desire- It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid.  
  
-Edgar Lee Masters  
  
_________________________________________  
On the plane ride back, Sydney's thoughts drifted between her mother's forlorn advice and Vaughn.  
Don't hold anything back Sydney . . . . They might not be there tomorrow.  
_________________________________________  
  
A week later, Syd waited in the warehouse for Vaughn. Back to the same old routine. Ever since "the kiss", things had become weird, however. Their relationship was beginning to falter under pressure. She wanted them to be able to talk again-she used to always know what was going through his head. Now he had drawn back, and Syd missed his presence.  
  
Suddenly she heard him, walking in through the door. Syd sat up straight as he approached, apprehensive for some reason. She had never felt apprehensive with him before . . . . . But then, the stress was probably due to what she was about to say to him. Don't hold back Syd, you're not in the business where you should hold anything back . . . her mother's words echoed, He might not be around tomorrow.  
  
"Good job on the mission in Syd. You're gonna be going to Italy next, so you'll be needing some equipment . . ." Vaughn started as soon as he walked in, straight to the other side of the room, arms crossed, not facing Sydney. Voice stern and unemotional.  
  
My God, thought Sydney, he's gonna turn into my dad. Obviously the bad feelings that they had left off with last time were still present. This was going to make it all the more difficult for Syd to try and lay it all out to him. Don't back out now Syd . . . . . .  
  
"Vaughn, wait. I've gotta talk to you . . . ." Syd paused for a second, trying to find the words. He looked up at her for a second, his eyes filled with something she had never seen coming from him before-anger.  
  
"That's not part of my job Sydney. My job is to give you your mission overview, and to assist you with any confusions you have on your assignment." he said, his voice dangerously soft. Sydney could've killed him then. If she didn't kiss him first.  
  
"Would you just shut up for five seconds and let me talk?" Syd needed to get this out. Frustration didn't even begin to describe what she was feeling right now. She gave Vaughn a glare only usually reserved for Sark. It was enough for him to close his gaping mouth and look at her at least. His eyes even seemed apologetic. She knew he hadn't meant what he said.  
  
"Vaughn, I can't do this anymore. For about a year now I have been living my life at a standstill. I've taken risks, but-- I haven't really taken any REAL risks, you know?" Syd paused. This was hard to describe-she felt like Marshall, jabbering on with no real purpose. Surprisingly, Vaughn looked as though he understood.  
  
"What I mean is, I've just been going through the motions, but I haven't done anything that seriously impacted my life. Nothing I felt strongly about, other than SD-6. But that's not the same-" she was faltering again. Syd sat down on the cold bench wishing that she could just hide, but at the same time yearning to be able to put herself out there on the line again. Live again.  
  
"-I'm just afraid that one day I'll wake up and I'll finally be ready to say all the things I've been wanting to say . . . . . . And nobody will be left to listen." Head in her hands, Syd took a breath, only to look up and see Vaughn standing right beside her. His eyes no longer held the malice they had before. One more breath. Just get it out, Syd.  
  
"What I'm trying to say is . . . ." eyes squeezed shut, then wide open, looking at him like the first time she saw him. Suddenly, the words came easier.  
"I'm in love with you."  
"And, I can't handle this thing that we keep doing where we dance around each other, getting close, and then bouncing back out of fear. You're either in this with me or you're not. I used to think, someday, when the Alliance is gone . . . But don't you get it? I might be dead tomorrow Vaughn! One of these missions, something will go wrong and I won't come back . . . . . . . . I just don't want things to be left unsaid." Syd let out another breath.  
  
"There. Now that was a real risk."  
  
Syd looked at Vaughn, searching his face for answers. He said nothing, just stared at her. It was beginning to make her nervous.  
  
"Say something, Vaughn."  
  
But he didn't utter a word. Instead, in one swift motion, he pulled her into him and kissing her with everything he had. As the kiss deepened, Vaughn suddenly pulled back. Oh no, not again, Syd thought.  
  
"You're sober this time, right?" he whispered, breathless.  
  
"Yeah." she said, smiling.  
  
"In that case, I love you too, Syd."  
And then he was kissing her again. It was perfect, the way she had always imagined it.  
Just then, another set of footsteps echoed in the hallway. Syd and Vaughn both instinctively reached for their guns, still kissing, before they heard Weiss's voice ring out in the dimly lit warehouse.  
  
"Hey guys! Devlin just called an emergency meeting . . . . . Something big is going down . . . . ."  
  
______________________________  
  
"What do you mean the Alliance is gone?" Vaughn was looking around for the hidden cameras. This had to be a joke.  
  
"Got an e-mail from security teams confirming it this morning. Jack reported a few days ago that Sloane hadn't returned from his Alliance meeting, so I had the security team go investigate the building where the Alliance supposedly meets, and they found it completely flattened by C-4. The head of every single SD-call was in the building at the time." Devlin coughed. "We did checks on the bodies. They're all there . . . . . including Sloane."  
  
"How did this happen?" Sydney had never felt such a mix of complete excitement and utter disappointment. It was wonderful that the Alliance had finally been destroyed-that's what she had been working for all this time, right? She had always kind of hope to be there, be the one to make it happen. She wasn't sure what she was going to do with her life now.  
  
She felt like . . . . . . . like Eliza, at the end of my Fair Lady. She had been working towards this thing, become totally emotionally invested in it, and now that it was gone, she didn't know what to feel. What is to become of me?? Her purpose had seemingly been fulfilled, what was left for her now?  
  
Vaughn noticed the panic stricken look on her face, took her hand, and squeezed it underneath the table. Devlin began his explanation of what happened.  
  
"We also found a few other bodies . . . . . . We only recognized one, but it was enough to pretty much figure out what happened. A little outside of the blast zone, we found Mr. Sark, shot to death." Devlin shook his head, still in disbelief. "It appears that he had the same objective that we did when he got involved with the Alliance." Syd feigned surprise. She had known all along of course, but had chosen to keep the secret to herself.  
  
"It seems that he succeeded in infiltrating the building with a small security team. After he had finished wiring it with explosives, he had been found and shot. He must've been able to crawl out of the building before the blast, but the rest of his team wasn't quite so lucky. There weren't any survivors."  
  
"Wow . . . . ." Syd said, unsure of what else to feel or do.  
  
So. Sark was dead. The Alliance was gone. Was this what she had wanted?  
  
Yes and No, Syd thought. I didn't want it ending like this . . . . . . . . .  
  
She had naively envisioned glory. What she was steadily realizing was that there was no glory in this business, only a lonely death. That made her think of Sark again. She had definitely not wanted that. At one time she had, but not anymore. This was going to take some getting used to.  
  
"Agent Vaughn, Agents' Bristow-" Devlin addressed them, "It's going to take awhile to get all this reorganized and cleaned up. In the meantime, I suggest you all take a nice month-long vacation. You won't be needed here for awhile." With that he nodded, and left them to fester in their shock.  
  
Sydney, Jack, and Vaughn sat there, not speaking, for a good half hour. Jack was the first to rise from the conference table.  
  
"-I think I'll go have a talk with your mother, and then . . . ." Jack started awkwardly, looking at Sydney, "I think I'll finally use my passport for something other than business. Fiji, Maybe . . ." With the slightest amount of hesitation, he bent down and kissed his daughter goodbye on the cheek. Sydney blinked in surprise. Her father? Gestures of affection? This was going to take some getting used to.  
After Jack left, Vaughn looked at her, took her hand and kissed her softly. Syd opened her mouth to speak, trying to explain to him her jumbled up feelings inside. He put up his hand to stop her, and kissed her again.  
  
"I know, Syd. I know."  
  
Hand in hand, they stood up walked out of the conference room, out of the CIA building, into the daylight. One more soft kiss, a promise of things to come.  
  
"Let's go home."  
A/N: Sark fans, don't get pissed at me and stop reading! There's going to be a couple more epilogue chapters . . . . . Things aren't always what they seem (hint hint hint hint hint . . . . . .) 


	19. Manipulation 19

2 Years Later  
Syd no longer slept with a gun under her pillow.  
That was definitely a perk that came with the destruction of the Alliance. That and being bumped down to 'semi-active status.' In other words, she had free time.  
  
And now she had a life to go along with it. That was probably the biggest perk of all-- No secrets.  
  
Syd smiled and looked up into the full-length mirror at Francie, helping her with her hair.  
  
The day after the Alliance was destroyed, Syd had told Francie everything. Will -God bless him- had been there, helping to explain things to Francie. Even after Syd had explained her reasons for keeping things secret, it still took Francie a good month to fully accept it. Now, it seemed impossible that Syd could have lied to Francie for all those years.  
  
Francie noticed Syd watching her in the mirror and smiled.  
  
"Syd, you look beautiful." Neither of them could stop smiling.  
  
"Thanks Francie, you look great too."  
  
Francie leaned in conspiratorially.  
  
"I'll tell you one thing, Syd . . . . You are WAY better at picking out bridesmaid's dresses than Will's ex-wife was." Syd doubled over laughing, recalling the drunk, quickie-fling marriage that Will had had with a Vegas showgirl for all of two months, and the teal-lace dresses that had gone with it. What one trip to Vegas and a bottle of Tequila will do to you . . . Syd had become addicted to moments like these. After SD-6, Syd's life had become more like an episode of Friends than an episode of Mission Impossible. One comical moment after another.  
  
"I never thought Francie, that after Danny my life could be like this . . ." she said, saying a silent prayer to Danny. She knew that he was here today, smiling down on her. She could still here him singing, "Build me up Buttercup."  
  
"Oh, Syd, he would have been so proud at what you've accomplished." Francie said, hugging her.  
  
"He is," Syd said, smiling again, "He is."  
  
Francie pulled back and took one last look at her friend.  
  
"It's time Syd."  
  
"I'm ready."  
  
____________________________________  
  
Kissing her on the cheek, Jack Bristow took his daughter's arm and escorted her across the soft Mediterranean sea sand towards the Makeshift Driftwood altar. Syd could feel the warm grains of sand sift in between the toes of her bare feet. The soft flowing silk of her dress fluttered in the wind. No high heels. No skintight dresses. No makeup. Simple and perfect.  
  
Along with Francie, Syd's mother stood smiling at one side of the altar, ready to give the bride away. She had been able to come on a special request from Kendall-- and with the aid of fifty or so armed guards discreetly covering the perimeter.  
  
On the groom's side, Will and Weiss stood, staring at the beautiful bride, grinning. Syd laughed a second at their faces, blushing.  
And there was Vaughn. She still couldn't manage to call him "Michael". She couldn't help but notice that he looked rather dashing in his white dress shirt and khakis. He hadn't wanted to wear a tux, and Syd had completely agreed with him. She'd seen him in enough suits already.  
  
A blur of required phrases said by the priest-Syd wasn't really listening, just looking at Vaughn. The words weren't the part that mattered anyways. And then it was time, and he bent down to kiss her in that soft and tender way he always did, backlit by the sun setting on the Mediterranean Sea.  
  
The kiss went on much longer than needed. Nobody cared, least of all Syd and Vaughn.  
The rest of the evening swirled into one culmination of laughs, toasts, kisses, and dancing. A lot of kisses.  
  
Finally, everyone dissipated, off to planes or hotel rooms. Hand in hand, Vaughn and Sydney walked a mile to their newly-purchased whitewall bungalow, and closed the door, still kissing on their way in.  
  
______________________________  
  
Quizzical, the poetry bookshop and café, opened 3 months after Sydney was married. It was a tiny little stucco shop crammed in between a family owned restaurant and a small-business beauty parlor. With her own hands, she built a makeshift stage near the back with some tables and chairs for performances, and painted the walls black with red stripes. Any wall not covered by a bookshelf held a mirror or modern art. It contained an entire shelf dedicated to Pablo Neruda. It was funky and cluttered, just the way Syd had pictured it. Best of all, it was her first endeavor that had absolutely nothing to do with the spy world.  
  
Syd had carefully stowed her first-edition copy of Pablo Neruda poetry underneath the counter, book marked with a frequently-handled piece of paper containing a poem, written long ago.  
  
It had scarcely bothered her that it was 5 hours in to her first day with an open shop and nobody had come in yet. She had enough steady income to keep it open, even if nobody ever set foot in it. Instead she was content reading the vast works that she had stored on the shelves, sipping rich Italian coffee.  
  
She was so immersed in her book in fact, that she didn't even hear when the bell atop the door did finally ring that day.  
  
Her first customer coughed to acknowledge his presence.  
  
"This shop of yours is a little hard to track down, but at least I managed to keep my promise."  
  
Sydney slowly took her eyes off her book and straightened. A tingling sensation began at the base of her spine upon hearing a voice that she hadn't recognized in years. Slowly turning in her chair, she saw him, confirming her instincts. It was him. Syd grinned a mile wide, looking him up and down to see what had changed. His hair was a tad darker, but that was all.  
  
"Hello Sir, how can I help you?" Syd asked, playing cool.  
  
"The name is Brian. Actually, I was just looking for someone I used to know. Obviously, I have the wrong store then." He feigned walking out the door, but turned around again when he heard Sydney's laughter.  
  
"I thought you were dead." she said nonchalantly, recreating the contrary banter that they had both mastered so well in their conversations. "How did you manage?"  
  
"I have my ways." Sark said, using the usual phrase. It was like no time had passed at all. Then he smiled a genuine smile, laughing at his own joke. Syd could tell that his time away from the business had changed him a bit, for the better. He didn't have problems with his humanity anymore. Syd got up and hugged him.  
  
"That's my thanks for doing what you did with the Alliance. It's completely changed my life for the better."  
  
"It's nice to know I have your appreciation, but I didn't do it for you."  
  
"I know."  
  
Syd pulled out from the hug and looked at him again. He was definitely more relaxed. Sark began leaning in closer to her face, pulling her close again, but Syd backed up.  
  
"I can't, Sark."  
  
"I'm sorry, of course . . . . ." he said, looking down at her ring finger. A few awkward seconds passed before he found another means of mocking her.  
  
"MRS. Bristow . . . ." Syd laughed again and smacked him.  
  
"I can't do that Sark, but would you settle for a cappuccino and a good friendship?"  
  
"With extra foam?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Deal."  
  
Syd laughed and went to go make two cappuccinos, while Sark began browsing through the Poe section. Some things never change.  
  
Sitting down at one of the many empty tables, Syd slid his coffee over to him.  
  
"And by the way," he said, "It's Brian. Not Sark."  
  
"Whatever you say, Brian." 


	20. Manipulation 20

Sydney never told. After that first meeting, both parties agreed that it would be too dangerous and complicated. As far as everyone was concerned, Sydney and her friend "Brian" went out for coffee every Tuesday. Nobody ever questioned the story; it was pretty much the truth anyways. The truth without details.  
  
She discovered that in the two years that he had disappeared, Sark had finally sorted out his problems somewhat. Once he had stopped living within himself, muffled memories had emerged from their graves, torturing and eventually healing him. Syd never forgot the day that he told her openly about growing up in Northern Ireland, and the day that his entire family died in a terrorist attack while attending a funeral.  
That day, "lunch" had lasted an hour longer than usual.  
Sark still couldn't remember his real name. But at this point, it didn't matter anymore.  
  
Syd often laughed to herself about how things had changed. There had been a time when she was sure that Sark would ruin her life. But now she still lived her life as usual, still came home to Vaughn, wrapping her in his arms. The only thing that had changed was that she gained one more person (besides Vaughn) that she could openly talk to about everything. There were very few people she knew who empathized with her life, and Sark was one of them.  
  
Eventually it got to the point where Syd hired Sark to work in the shop on occasion. She still went on the rare CIA mission, and when she was away efficiently kicking ass in the name of the USA, Sark was there to run the shop in her absence. Vaughn never visited when she was gone anyways.  
  
_______________________________________  
  
Sark looked up from his book as the shop door opened. It was Sydney, with a little 6-year old brown haired girl in tow. She smiled in greeting.  
  
"Hello Syd. How was the mission?"  
  
"Oh, you know, the usual threat of world destruction. Voice identification software, retinal scanner, disarming bombs, the works."  
  
Sark laughed. "Sorry to hear that they've been getting boring." he looked down, acknowledging the little girl holding Sydney's hand.  
  
"And who might you be?" Sark asked, smiling.  
  
"Brian, meet Ella. Ella, this is my friend, Brian." Syd said.  
  
"Hi!" She said excitedly. She looks just like her mother when she smiles, he thought.  
  
"We're here to buy Ella her very first poetry book, Brian. Any suggestions?"  
  
"Well, she's a little young yet for Neruda . . . ." Syd laughed at the inside joke. "I'd say Shel Silverstein would suit her perfectly."  
  
He walked around the counter and stood By Ella and her mother.  
  
"Let's go see what we have."  
  
Ella smiled once more, and followed Sark and her mother towards the bookshelves.  
THE END  
A/N: S/S fans, please don't get pissed at me. I just can't see Sydney and Sark settling down into Volvo/Soccermom mode. Plus, let's face it, Sark is the coolest character ever, but he's also seriously screwed up. I would really lose respect for Sydney if she pursued a relationship with Sark, considering he's a sociopath AND nearly killed her best friend, Will. (Oh, and Note to Andi: The name "Sydney Vaughn" doesn't really work in my opinion, so I just had Syd keep her maiden name.) This is how I always wanted to end it, with them just becoming really good friends. Thanks for all the reviews! You guys were really helpful. I'm trying to churn out some other stuff too, so PLEASE read and review that stuff too. Thanks for reading! 


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